THE 


MT^i^r^ 
ESS 
JL-*A*yL/ 


ELIZABETH 
T  ROBINS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


"  Now  your   finger-print,  if  you  please 


The  Messenger 


By 

Elizabeth  Robins 

Author  of  "Come  and  Find  Me,"  etc. 


With  Illustrations  by 

George  Giguere 


New  York 

The  Century  Co. 
1919 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
ELIZABETH  ROBINS 

Copyright,  1918,  1919,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 

Published,  September,  1919 


PS 


TO 

s.  c. 


641818 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  Now  your  finger-print,  if  you  please  "     .     .     Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"O  Gavan,  save  me!" 198 

"I  have  a  cabin  below.     I  place  it  at  the  lady's  dis 
posal"      369 

"  The  name  of  the  man  in  the  War  Office! "  .     .     .     .414 


THE  MESSENGER 


THE  MESSENGER 


CHAPTEE  I 

'  A  FTER  a^?  we  are  n't  yet  living  in  the  millennium, 
/•^  Julian.  What  I  'm  afraid  of  is  that  some  day 
you  '11  be  wanting  to  carry  these  notions  of  yours  beyond 
the  bounds  of  what 's  reasonable." 

"  You  mean/'  said  the  other  young  man,  with  a  flash  in 
his  dark  eyes,  "  you  mean  you  're  afraid  I  may  just  chance 
to  be  honest  in  my  '  notions/  as  you  call  them,  of  a  scheme 
of  social  justice." 

As  far  off  as  you  saw  Gavan  Napier,  you  knew  him  as  a 
scion  not  only  of  the  governing  class,  but  in  all  likelihood 
of  one  of  the  governing  families.  Exactly  the  sort  of  man, 
you  would  say,  to  have  Eton  and  Balliol  in  the  past,  a  pres 
ent  as  unpaid,  private  secretary  to  a  member  of  his  Ma 
jesty's  Government,  and  a  future  in  which  the  private 
secretary  himself  would  belong  to  officialdom  and  employ 
pleasant,  more  or  less  accomplished,  and  more  rather  than 
less  idle,  young  gentlemen  to  take  down  occasional  notes, 
write  an  occasional  letter,  and  see  a  boring  constituent. 

It  was  no  boring  constituent  he  was  seeing  now,  out  of 
those  cool  blue  eyes  of  his,  yet  he  followed  with  evident 
dissatisfaction  the  figure  of  a  woman  who  had  appeared 
an  instant  over  the  sand-dunes  and  who,  as  Napier  turned 

3 


4  THE  MESSENGEK 

to  look  at  her  instead  of  at  his  ball,  changed  her  tack  and 
sauntered  inland. 

"What  do  you  suppose  she's  always  hanging  about 
for  ?  "  Napier  asked  his  companion. 

"  As  if  you  did  n't  know !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  do,"  retorted  Napier,  "  I  wish  you  'd  tell 
me." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  You're  quite  con 
ceited  enough."  Julian  shouldered  his  golf  clubs  (it  was 
against  his  principles  to  employ  a  caddie)  and  trudged  on 
at  the  side  of  his  unencumbered  friend.  The  eyes  of  both 
followed  the  lady  disappearing  among  the  dunes. 

"  I  've  seen  her  only  two  or  three  times,"  Julian  said, 
"  but  I  've  seen  she  has  n't  eyes  for  anybody  except  you." 

"  That 's  far  from  being  so,"  Napier  retorted.  "  But  if 
it  were,  I  should  know  the  reason." 

"  Of  course  you  do." 

"  But  you  don't,"  Napier  still  insisted.  "  The  reason 
is  I  'm  the  only  person  in  the  house  who  is  n't  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg's  slave." 

"  Oh !     I  took  her  at  first  for  just  a  governess." 

"  She 's  a  lot  besides  that !  "  Napier  wagged  his  head  in 
a  curiosity-provoking  way. 

"  There 's  been  so  much  to  talk  about  since  I  got  back," 
Julian  went  on,  "  or  else  I  've  been  meaning  to  ask  about 
her." 

"  She  interests  you?  "  Napier  asked  a  little  sharply. 

"I  confess,"  said  Julian,  "I  haven't  understood  her 
position  at  the  Mclntyres." 

"  If  7  have  n't  —  it  is  n't  from  lack  of  data.  Only,"— 
Napier  wrinkled  his  fine  brows  —  "  did  you  ever  know  a 


THE  MESSENGEB  5 

person  that  nothing  you  know  ahout  them  seems  to  fit? 
That  is  n't  grammar,  but  it 's  my  feeling  about  that  young 
woman." 

The  two  played  a  very  evenly  matched  game.  As  they 
walked  side  by  side  after  their  balls,  Julian  wondered  from 
time  to  time  whether  the  subject  of  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg  had  been  introduced  to  prevent  his  reverting  to  that 
vision  of  his  —  all  the  clearer  since  his  tour  round  the 
world  —  of  a  reconstituted  society  in  which  vested  privilege 
should  no  longer  have  a  leg  to  stand  on.  Or  could  it  be 
that  Gavan  was  seriously  intrigued  by  the  Ehine  maiden 
who,  more  or  less  as  a  special  favor,  had  consented  to  super 
intend  the  studies  and  to  share  the  recreations  of  "  that 
handful,"  Madge  Mclntyre,  aged  sixteen?  This  girl,  with 
the  boyish  face  and  boyish  tastes  and  boyish  clothes  (whose 
mane  of  flaming  hair  had  helped  to  fasten  on  her  the  nick 
name  of  Wildfire  Mclntyre),  Julian  already  knew  slightly 
as  the  only  and  much-spoiled  daughter  of  Napier's  chief. 
Sir  William  Mclntyre,  K.  C.  B.,  adviser  to  the  Admiralty 
and  laird  of  Kirklamont,  had  been  the  notable  chairman 
of  endless  shipping  companies  and  prime  promoter  of 
numberless  commercial  enterprises,  until  he  accepted  a 
seat  in  the  cabinet,  a  man  of  vigor  and  some  originality  of 
mind,  in  contrast  to  his  wife  — •  a  brainless  butterfly  of  a 
woman  who  complained  bitterly  that  she  had  less  trouble 
with  her  four  sons  than  with  her  one  daughter.  The  one 
daughter,  by  ill  luck,  had  an  inconvenient  share  of  her 
father's  force  of  character.  She  had  ruled  the  house  of 
Mclntyre  till  the  advent  of  the  lady  in  question. 

That  lady's  predecessor  had  been  a  Miss  Gayne.  Miss 
Gayne  had  been  in  possession  till  a  fateful  morning  last 


6  THE  MESSENGER 

summer  when  Madge,  driving  along  the  coast  road,  came 
in  sight  of  Glenfallon  Castle,  and  pulled  up  her  pony  with 
a  jerk  that  nearly  precipitated  poor  Miss  Gayne  out  of 
the  cart.  "  My  goodness  gracious,  the  Duke  is  back !  " 

Glenfallon,  on  its  cliff  above  the  Firth,  commanded  a 
view  north  and  south  over  the  many-bayed  and  channeled 
mainland,  out  over  rocky  islets  —  shining  jewels  of  jacinth 
and  jasper  and  azurite,  spilled  haphazard  into  the  sea  — 
clear  away  to  that  great  gray  expanse  miscalled  by  the 
new  governess  the  German  Ocean.  Nobody  had  lived  at 
Glenfallon  as  long  as  Madge  could  remember,  so  that  she 
might  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  emitting  that  excited 
scream  at  sight  of  two  young  men  in  tennis  flannels  busy 
ing  themselves  about  the  net. 

"We  mustn't  sit  here  staring  at  them,"  Miss  Gayne 
remonstrated. 

Miss  Gayne  picked  up  the  reins  which  Madge  had  let 
fall.  Madge  seized  them  with  an  impatient  "  Don't !  " 
and  flung  them  round  the  whip. 

"  It  is  n't  proper  to  sit  like  this,  staring  into  a  stranger's 
tennis  court.  At  two  strange  young  men,  too !  " 

"  I  'm  only  staring  at  one.     You  can  have  the  other." 

Presently  a  tennis  ball  came  over  the  wall  and  bounced 
into  the  road.  Before  Miss  Gayne  could  remonstrate, 
Madge  was  out  of  the  cart  and  had  sent  the  ball  hurtling 
back. 

The  younger  man  caught  it,  and  the  elder  advanced  to 
the  wall  to  thank  the  young  lady.  He  was  a  very  good 
specimen  of  fair,  broad-shouldered,  blunt-featured  man 
hood,  but  when  he  opened  his  mouth  he  spoke  with  a  for 
eign  accent. 


"  When  are  you  expecting  him  ?  "  demanded  Madge. 

"Expecting  whom?  We  are  not  expecting  anybody, 
I  'm  afraid,  and  the  more  pleased  to  see  you."  He  made 
his  quick  little  bow  and  turned  to  present  his  brother. 
"  This  is  Ernst  Pforzheim  and  I  am  Carl." 

Madge  nodded,  deliberately  ignoring  Miss  Gayne's  hur 
ried  approach  and  disapproving  presence. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?     Have  you  bought  Glenf allon  ?  " 

No,  they  had  only  leased  it.  They  hoped  the  change 
and  quiet  might  do  their  father  some  good.  He  hadn't 
been  well  ever  since  .  .  .  ever  since  they  lost  their  mother. 

"  We  have  great  hopes  of  this  fine  air  and  perfect  quiet," 

said  the  elder.     "  The  quiet  is  the  very  thing  for  our 

father  —  but  for  us  it  may  become  a  little  triste.     So  we 

play  tennis.     Do  you  play  tennis,  Miss  ...  a  ...  Miss 

.?" 

"  Do  I  play  tennis  ? "  Madge  did  not  long  leave  any 
doubt  on  that  score. 

The  adventure  was  not  smiled  on  at  home,  but  poor 
Miss  Gayne  got  all  the  blame. 

There  was  a  touch  of  irony  in  the  lady's  being  succeeded 
by  some  one  recommended  by,  or  at  least  through,  these 
very  undesirable  and  undoubtedly  foreign  acquaintances. 

The  same  success  which  the  Pforzheim  young  men  had 
with  their  country  neighbors  generally,  they  had  with 
Madge.  Everybody  seemed  to  like  them.  Lady  Mclntyre 
liked  them  from  the  first.  "  Such  charming  manners ! 
And  so  devoted  to  their  poor  father !  " 

With  his  pleasant  malice  Napier  described  the  Pforz- 
heims  at  Kirklamont,  and  Lady  Mclntyre's  graciousness 
that  <f  ( so  hoped  to  make  your  father's  acquaintance.' " 


8  THE  MESSENGER 

The  Pforzheims  shook  their  heads  over  the  poor  gentle 
man's  condition,  "  '  confined  to  a  darkened  room.'  " 

" '  But  we  heard  that  he  was  out  yesterday  evening,  in 
your  new  steam  launch.' 

"' Ah!  that  ...  yes  ...  that  is  because  his  eyes  are 
very  painful.  He  can't  bear  the  least  light.  So  he  gets 
no  exercise  and  no  change  of  air  during  the  day.' 

" '  Well,  in  that  case  of  course  he  could  n't  expect  to 
sleep ! '  And  then  Lady  Mclntyre  had  an  inspiration. 
'  Does  n't  it  sound,'  she  appealed  to  Sir  William,  '  ex 
tremely  like  the  kind  of  insomnia  Lord  Grantbury  suffers 
from  ?  I  believe  it 's  the  very  identical  same.  And  Lord 
Grantbury  has  found  a  cure.' 

"  Great  sensation  on  the  part  of  the  Pforzheims.  Oh, 
would  Lady  Mclntyre  tell  them.  .  .  .  They  'd  be  eternally 
grateful  if  she  would  only  get  Lord  Grantbury's  prescrip 
tion.  But  Lady  Mclntyre  could  produce  it  at  once.  She 
did  produce  it.  And  what  did  Julian  think  it  was  ?  " 

Julian  shook  his  head.  He  knew  quite  well  now  that 
Arthur  was  telling  him  this  yarn  in  order  to  avoid  re 
opening  the  subject  of  their  disagreement  —  the  only  one 
in  their  lives.  So  he  bore  with  hearing  that  Lord  Grant 
bury's  remedy  for  insomnia  was  a  combination  of  motion 
and  absence  of  daylight.  Lord  Grantbury  had  contended 
that  light  was  a  strong  excitant.  That  the  consciousness 
of  being  seen,  of  having  to  acknowledge  recognition,  or 
even  of  knowing  your  label  was  being  clapped  on  your 
back  —  all  that  was  disturbing  in  certain  states  of  health. 
"So  he  has  himself  driven  out,  they  say,  about  eleven 
o'clock  at  night  in  a  sixty-horsepower  car,  and  goes  whiz 
zing  along  lonely  roads  where  there's  no  fear  of  police 


THE  MESSENGER  9 

traps,  as  hard  as  he  can  lick.  When  he  comes  back,  he 
finds  that  all  that  ozone,  and  whatever  it  is,  has  quieted 
him.  He  sleeps  like  a  top.'  The  sons  were  advised  to 
put  Father  Pforzheim  in  a  Rolls-Royce  car  and  see  what 
would  happen.  '  You  have  n't  got  a  high  power  car  ?, 
Till  they  can  send  for  one,' —  Lady  Mclntyre  appealed  to 
her  husband  — (  don't  you  think,  William,  we  might  —  ? '  ; 

"  But  Carl,  profuse  in  thanks,  said  that  unfortunately 
his  father  had  a  nervous  abhorrence  of  motor  cars. 

"  '  How  very  strange ! '  said  Lady  Mclntyre. 

"  '  No,  it  was  n't  at  all  strange.  My  mother/  —  Carl 
dropped  his  eyes  and  compressed  his  full  lips  — '  our  dear 
mother  was  killed  in  a  motor  accident.'  i 

" (  But  our  father,'  —  Ernst  looked  up  as  he  brushed  a 
white,  triple-ringed  hand  across  his  eyes  — '  our  father 
finds  the  water  soothing.  After  all,  Carl,  swift  motion 
on  the  water,  why  should  n't  that  do  as  well  as  racing 
along  a  road  ?  ' 

"  '  And  darkness,'  said  Lady  Mclntyre. 

"'And  darkness!'  the  brothers  echoed  her  together. 
'  We  can  never  thank  you  enough,  Lady  Mclntyre.  We 
will  persevere  with  your  friend  Lord  GrantbmVs  rem 
edy.'  "  The  brothers  clicked  their  heels  and  pressed  their 
lips  to  her  hand  and  left  her  in  a  nutter.  The  poor  young 
men's  anxiety  was  most  touching!  Especially  Carl's. 
Lady  Mclntyre,  according  to  Napier,  doted  on  Carl.  He 
was  n't  so  taken  up  by  his  filial  preoccupations  either,  that 
he  couldn't  sympathize  with  the  anxiety  of  a  mother. 
Lady  Mclntyre's  about  Madge.  Mr.  Carl  agreed  that  Misa 
Gayne  was  not  the  person.  He  had  seen  that  at  once.  No 
influence  whatever.  Miss  Mclntyre  was  a  very  charming 


10  THE  MESSENGER 

young  lady.  Full  of  character.  Eire,  too.  She  required 
special  handling. 

" '  Ah !  how  well  you  understand !  Now,  what  do  you 
advise  me  to  do  ?  Seeing  you  reminds  me/  Lady  Mclntyre 
said  with  her  infantile  candor,  '  that  we  've  never  tried  a 
German  governess.  We've  had  so  many  French  ones. 
And  quite  an  army  of  English  and  Scotch  - 

"'Ah!  a  German  governess !'"--  he  pulled  at  his 
mustache.  Mr.  Pforzheim  promised  to  consult  his  aunt. 
The  widow  of  a  Heidelberg  professor. 

By  a  special  providence  Frau  Lenz  knew  of  a  young 
lady  who  was  at  that  moment  in  London,  on  her  way 
home  from  America.  She  would  be  the  very  person  to  con 
sult. 

"  She  was  the  very  person  to  get,"  Lady  Mclntyre  said, 
when  she  came  back  from  interviewing  the  paragon. 
"  And,  Heaven  be  praised,  I  've  got  her !  " 

They  had  gone  back  to  London  on  account  of  that  com 
mission  Sir  William  had  insisted  on  having  appointed. 
There  were  a  lot  of  people  in  London  that  July,  and  things 
going  on.  Madge  in  the  thick  of  everything,  as  though 
she  'd  been  twenty-five  instead  of  fifteen.  That 's  how  the 
von  Schwarzenberg  found  her,  neglecting  lessons,  ignoring 
laws,  living  at  the  theater,  figuring  at  her  father's  official 
parties,  sitting  up  till  all  hours  of  the  night,  smoking 
cigarettes  till  her  fingers  looked  as  if  she  'd  been  shelling 
green  walnuts,  gossiping,  arguing,  on  every  subject  under 
the  sun.  That 's  the  situation  to  which  Miss  von  Schwar 
zenberg  was  introduced  as  the  latest  in  a  long  and  sorry 
line. 

Napier  had  watched  the  transformation. 


11 

"  They  've  raised  the  Schwarzenberg's  salary  twice." 
She  had  subdued  every  member  of  the  minister's  house 
hold. 

"  Not  you,  I  hope  ?  "  Julian  said  quickly. 

Napier  laughed.  "  She  would  set  your  mind  at  rest  on 
that  score.  Only  the  other  day  she  got  me  into  a  corner. 
*  What  have  you  got  against  me,  Mr.  Napier  ? '  she  said. 
'  You  don't  like  me.'  It  took  me  so  by  surprise,  I  stam 
mered  :'/?...  What  an  idea ! '  '  Why  don't  you  like 
me,  Mr.  Napier  ?  '  Mercifully  just  then  Wildfire  Mclntyre 
flamed  across  our  path." 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  the  young  men  reached  Kirklamont,  the  Mc- 
Intyres  were  already  gathered  about  the  tea-table 
in  the  hall  of  the  big,  ugly,  Scotch  country  house.  "  The 
family  "  consisted  at  the  moment  only  of  three,  the  fourth 
person  present  being  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  for  it  was 
mid- July.  In  another  month  the  absent  sons  (two  sol 
diers  and  a  sailor)  would  come  up  for  the  shooting  and 
bring  their  friends. 

All  this  presupposed  —  as  nobody  found  the  least  diffi 
culty  in  doing  —  that  Sir  William's  recent  "little  heart 
attack "  would  leave  no  legacy  more  destructive  of  the 
usual  routine  than  abandonment  of  London  a  fortnight 
or  so  earlier  than  had  been  planned.  A  more  acute  anx 
iety  might  have  touched  Lady  Mclntyre  had  her  husband 
not  deliberately  thrown  her  off  the  track.  He  dubbed  the 
great  specialist  "  a  verra  reasonable  fella,"  who  did  n't 
make  a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill.  The  patient  did  not 
add  the  means  by  which  he  had  been  coerced  into  turning 
his  back  on  public  affairs  at  a  moment  made  so  critical 
for  the  Government  by  Irish  affairs. 

"  A  break  in  the  London  strain,  at  once  and  often,  or 
else  smash." 

That  was  the  dour  deliverance  which  had  installed  the 
Mclntyres  in  their  beloved  Kirklamont  two  weeks  earlier 
than  they  could  have  hoped.  It  was  a  party  which,  with 

12 


THE  MESSENGER  13 

a  single  exception  (again  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg),  had 
shaken  off  London  by  every  token  of  tweed  garment,  stout 
boots,  of  golf  stockings,  and  of  gaiters. 

Cup  in  hand,  Sir  William,  as  became  the  head  of  the 
house,  stood  planted  on  wide-apart  legs  in  front  of  the 
fireplace  —  a  sanguine-colored,  plump,  little  partridge  of 
a  man  with  a  kind,  rather  ruse  face. 

Lady  Mclntyre,  behind  the  urn  —  fair,  fluffy-haired, 
blue-eyed  —  looked,  as  such  women  will,  far  older  in  the 
country  than  she  did  in  her  "  London  clothes."  But  she 
was  far  too  correct  not  to  make  any  sacrifice  called  for  by 
the  unwritten  law  of  her  kind.  Behold  her,  therefore, 
bereft  of  all  fripperies  save  the  dangling  diamond  ear 
rings,  which  emphasized  painfully  an  excuse  for  frivolity 
which  had  been  outlived.  To  tell  the  blunt  truth,  Lady 
Mclntyre  looked  like  some  shrunken  little  duenna,  at 
tendant  on  the  opulent  majesty  of  the  heavy-braided,  ox- 
eyed  Juno  at  her  side.  For  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg 
shared  the  High  Seat  —  otherwise  Lady  Mclntyre's  carved 
settle.  At  her  feet  sat  Madge,  her  pupil,  and  an  Aberdeen 
terrier. 

"You  really!" — the  high-pitched  excitement  in  the 
girl's  voice  reached  the  young  men  depositing  their  golf 
clubs  and  caps  in  the  lobby  —  "  you  really  and  truly  want 
to  learn  golf  —  after  all?" 

"  If  nobody  has  any  objection,"  a  voice  answered,  in  an 
accent  very  slightly  foreign,  and  to  the  English  ear  sug 
gesting,  as  much  as  anything,  Western  American. 

"  Objection !  Quite  the  contrary.  Capital  idea !  "  Sir 
William  spoke  heartily. 

Bobby,   fourteen   but   looking   nearer   eighteen,   spilled 


14  THE  MESSENGEB 

over  and  sprawled  out  of  an  armchair  as  he  beat  the  arm, 
and  cried  out  with  animation  and  a  mouth  full  of  griddle 
cake,  "  Bags  I  teach  you,  Fraulein !  " 

"  I  hope  you  've  been  taking  it  out  of  Gavan,"  Sir  Wil 
liam  had  called  out  by  way  of  greeting  to  Julian.  Julian 
played  up  by  proceeding  to  describe  with  mock  braggadoccio 
how  he  'd  completely  taken  the  shine  out  of  the  champion. 
That  person,  handing  tea,  contented  himself  with  privately 
observing  yet  again  how  his  friend,  long  and  lithe  and 
dark,  offered  to  the  rotund  little  figure  of  the  eminent  of 
ficial  a  contrast  that  ministered  pleasantly  to  a  sense  of  the 
ludicrous.  Sir  William's  bald  bullet  head  barely  reached 
the  height  of  Julian's  chest.  But  it  was  notorious  —  and 
Napier  had  not  worked  for  two  years  with  Sir  William 
without  finding  good  reason  to  share  the  prevalent  opinion 
—  that  inside  the  aforesaid  bullet  was  an  uncommon 
amount  of  shrewd  sense  and  a  highly  developed  skill  in 
organizing  power. 

Sir  William  ran  his  department  as  he  ran  his  vast  com 
mercial  enterprises,  with  an  ease  that  was  own  child  of 
intelligence  of  a  high  degree.  But  now,  as  though  it  were 
the  main  factor  in  life,  he  talked  golf. 

The  governess,  after  a  perfunctory  "how  do  you  do" 
to  the  visitor,  had  leaned  over  to  stroke  the  Aberdeen. 
The  lady's  full-moon  face  —  with  its  heavy,  shapely  nose, 
its  smooth  apple  cheeks,  its  quiet,  beautiful  mouth  —  was 
bent  down  till  her  chin  rested  on  her  generous  bust.  It 
occurred  to  Napier  that  she  often  adopted  this  pose.  It 
gave  her  an  air  of  pensiveness,  of  submission,  the  more 
striking  in  a  person  of  so  much  character. 

Also,  the  little  tendrils  of  yellow  hair  that  escaped  from 


THE  MESSENGER  15 

under  the  Gretchen-like  banded  braids  cast  delicate 
shadows  on  the  whitest  neck  Napier  had  ever  seen.  Oh, 
she  had  her  points. 

"  Did  you  hear,  Mr.  Grant  ?  "  Madge  called  out.  "  Miss 
von  Schwarzenberg  says  now  she  wants  to  learn  our  foolish 
national  game." 

"  Never ! "  Julian  turned  back  to  the  tea-table.  His 
tone  was  faintly  ironic  —  as  though  the  sensation  created 
by  this  lady's  conversion  to  golf  seemed  disproportionate 
to  its  importance. 

Lady  Mclntyre  lifted  her  appealing  eyes.  "  I  wonder 
if  you  M  be  very  kind,  Mr.  Grant,  and  help  the  children  to 
teach  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  ?  " 

The  almost  infinitesimal  pause  was  cancelled,  obliterated, 
by  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  promptitude.  "  Oh,  I 
couldn't  think  of  being  such  a  trouble."  She  had  risen. 
"  Sit  here,  Mr.  Grant,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  please.  I  've 
finished."  In  spite  of  his  protest,  she  retired  to  a  chair  on 
the  far  side  of  the  fireplace  —  Napier's  side  —  and  picked 
up  her  knitting. 

Madge  followed,  dog-like,  and  so  did  the  Aberdeen. 

"It  is  a  comfort,"  Lady  Mclntyre  went  on,  "to  find 
such  a  terribly  clever  person  "  —  she  nodded  significantly 
in  the  direction  of  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  —  "  taking  an 
interest  in  the  things  ordinary  mortals  care  about.  It  '-s 
been  the  one  fault  I  ?ve  had  to  find  with  Greta.  She 
does  n't  play  games.  They  don't,  you  know.  But  the  Ger 
mans  are  a  wonderful  people !  Take  this  young  girl  "  — 
she  lowered  her  voice.  But,  however,  little  of  the  con 
versation  was  lost  on  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg.  She 
knitted  steadily.  Madge  played  with  the  dog. 


16  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Greta 's  only  twenty-five  or  six,"  Lady  Mclntyre  went 
on.  "Her  father  was  an  officer  of  Uhlans.  An  invalid 
now.  And  somehow  they  lost  their  money.  An  uncle  in 
America  is  tremendously  rich,  and  he  's  had  Greta  at  one 
of  the  great  women's  colleges  over  there.  She  insisted  on 
going  home  every  summer  ...  so  domestic,  the  Germans ! 
I  always  think  it 's  extremely  nice  of  them  to  feel  affection 
ate  toward  such  a  horrid  country  as  Germany  —  don't  you, 
Mr.  Grant?  And  such  a  language  to  wrestle  with,  poor 
things!  Do  you  know,  they  call  a  thimble  a  finger  hat? 
Yes,  and  a  pin  a  stick  needle ! " 

"  Well,  well !  "  —  Sir  William  broke  off  in  the  middle 
of  the  golf  discussion,  and  rattled  his  seals  with  great 
vigor,  as  though  they  were  a  summons  to  industry  —  a 
simulacrum  of  factory  bell  or  works  whistle.  "  I  must 
write  one  more  letter.  No,  I  don't  need  you,  Gavan." 

"But  that  translation?" 

"  It 's  done." 

"  Done !  "  said  the  astonished  Napier. 

"  And  could  n't  be  better,"  said  Sir  William,  as  he  dis 
appeared  into  the  library. 

"  Miss  Greta  did  it !  "  triumphed  Bobby. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  lady,  smiling,  "  which  Gf  you  two 
would  go  and  get  me  the  rest  of  my  wool  ?  " 

Bobby  was  on  his  feet,  staring  helplessly  round. 

"  In  your  work  bag?  "  asked  Madge. 

Greta  nodded,  and  the  two  raced  each  other  upstairs. 
Miss  Greta  lifted  her  candid  eyes.  "Does  it  require  a 
great  deal  of  practice,  Mr.  Napier,  to  play  golf  passably?  " 
She  blushed  slightly  as  she  went  on:  "I  suppose  I've 
hoped  that  if  I  watched  you,  I  'd  stand  a  better  chance  of 


THE  MESSENGEK  17 

playing  a  fair  game  myself  some  day.  Fair,  that  is,"  she 
added,  with  her  meek  droop  of  the  braid-crowned  head, 
"  fair  for  a  woman." 

"I'm  sure  you  know,"  Napier  returned  a  little  im 
patiently,  "  that  plenty  of  women  play  very  well." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  inquired  with  her  soft  persistence, 
"  you  'd  ever  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  a  tip  or  two  ?  " 

He  did  n't  answer  at  once,  and  she  turned  in  her  chair 
to  look  at  him.  Out  from  her  disarranged  cushion  rolled 
a  large  ball  of  field  gray.  It  bumped  against  Napier's 
ankle  and  rebounded  to  the  wall. 

"  Is  n't  this  the  wool  you  were  looking  for  ?  "  He  took 
it  up  by  the  loose  end,  and  rapidly  unrolled  several  yards 
of  it. 

"  Thank  you  so  much !  I  can't  think  how  it  got  down 
here."  She  took  the  ball  from  him,  and  remained  stand 
ing  while  she  rewound.  "  After  all,  I  sha'n't  much  more 
than  have  time  to  get  on  my  things."  She  glanced  at  the 
clock. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  Lady  Mclntyre  asked  the 
question  from  habit.  Seldom  was  Greta  allowed  to  leave 
the  room  without  that  question. 

"  You  were  so  kind  as  to  say  I  might  have  the  cart." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Lady  Mclntyre  remembered. 

"What  for?"  asked  Bobby,  tumbling  downstairs. 
"  Want  to  be  driven  somewhere  ?  Bags  I  —  " 

"Certainly  not!"  Madge  called  out  to  him.  And  then 
in  a  markedly  different  tone,  "  I  've  turned  everything  out 
of  ...  Oh,  you  've  got  it !  " 

It  was  all  right,  Miss  Greta  said  comprehensively.  She 
would  go  to  the  station  alone. 


18  THE  MESSENGEK 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  come !  "  Madge  begged. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  shook  her  head.  Madge 
looked  at  her  wistfully.  "  I  wish  she  was  n't  coming !  " 
Then  with  a  gleam,  "  I  believe  you  do  too !  " 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  smiled. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  demanded  Bobby. 

"  Oh,  a  little  American  friend  of  mine.  A  girl  I  went 
to  school  with." 

"  Her  name 's  Nan  Ellis,"  Madge  informed  the  com 
pany  gloomily,  "  and  she 's  not  much  to  look  at,  and  not 
at  all  rich,  and  not  much  of  anything  that  I  can  discover. 
Just  a  millstone  round  Miss  Greta's  neck." 

"  We  must  n't  say  that."  Miss  Greta  was  winding  the 
last  couple  of  yards.  "You  see,  she's  an  orphan,  and  I 
rather  took  her  under  my  wing  at  school  —  poor  child !  " 

Bobby  asked  if  the  American  was  going  to  stay  with  us. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  wool  winder,  now  at  the  end  of  her 
task.  "At  the  inn,  of  course."  Miss  Greta  glanced  again 
at  the  clock  as  she  gathered  up  her  knitting. 

"  Cart  was  n't  ordered  till  six,"  Madge  threw  in. 
"  Don't  you  mean  to  bring  her  here  at  all  ?  " 

"I  should  be  delighted.  But  — I  can't  natter  myself 
that  my  little  friend  would  interest  you."  She  swept  the 
circle.  "  Quite  a  nice  girl,  but  ...  (a  deprecatory  wave 
of  one  hand),  "well,  crude.  Western,  you  know.  She 
has  grown  used  to  looking  to  me  for  the  summer.  I  tried 
to  explain  that-  "  the  pause  was  eloquent  of  a  delicate 
desire  to  spare  feelings  —  "  that  I  was  n't  taking  a  holiday 
myself  this  year.  But,"  — on  her  way  out  of  the  hall 
Miss  Greta  laughed  over  her  shoulder  — -, "  she 's  not  per 
haps  so  very  quick  at  — how  do  you  say  it?  —  not  so  quick 


THE  MESSENGER  19 

at  the  uptake."  She  turned  at  the  sound  of  a  motor  car 
rushing  up  the  drive. 

Through  the  open  lobby  doors  a  girl  was  seen  rising 
from  her  seat  and  scanning  Kirklamont  Hall  with  a  slight 
frown.  As  the  car  swerved  round  to  the  entrance  she 
called  out  to  the  chauffeur  in  a  voice  of  appalling  dis 
tinctness,  and  most  unmistakably  transatlantic :  "  Are  you 
sure  this  is  the  place?  It  is  n't  my  idea  of  a  ...  Oh!  " 
She  had  given  one  glance  through  the  lobby  and  was  out 
of  the  car  as  a  bird  goes  over  a  hedge.  "  It  is !  It  is !  " 
—  The  girl  stood  in  the  hall,  holding  out  her  hands, 
"Greta!" 

"  My  dear  Nan ! "  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  had  has 
tened  forward,  more  flurried  than  anybody  there  had  ever 
seen  her. 

"  Oh,  my ! "  said  the  newcomer  with  a  face  of  rapture. 
"Oh,  my!"  and  she  fell  to  hugging  Miss  von  Schwarzen 
berg. 

Bobby  sat  contorting  his  long  legs  and  arms  with  un- 
regenerate  glee  at  Fraulein's  struggle  to  be  cordial  and  at 
the  same  time  to  disengage  herself  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

Lady  Mclntyre  left  her  settle  and  pattered  forward  with 
hospitable  intent.  An  instant  of  indecision  on  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg's  part,  and  then  Miss  Ellis  was  duly  pre 
sented. 

She  wasn't  nearly  so  tall  as  Napier  had  thought  her 
when  she  stood  up  in  the  car.  This  was  because  the 
figure  was  slight  and  extremely  erect.  For  the  rest,  a 
small  head,  overweighted  with  a  profusion  of  bright,  brown 
hair;  a  rather  childish  face  under  a  little  golden-brown 
hat,  guiltless  of  trimming  but  for  the  two  brown  wings 


20  THE  MESSENGER 

set  one  on  each  side,  rather  far  back.  "  The  kind  of  hat," 
Napier  pointed  out  afterward,  "that  Pheidias  gave  to 
Mercury.  Cheek  for  a  girl  to  wear  a  hat  like  that !  " 

Even  under  her  manifest  excitement,  the  delicate  oval 
of  the  girl's  face  showed  only  a  faint  tinge  of  color.  Miss 
von  Schwarzenberg's  round  cheeks  were  richest  carmine. 
"Oh,  you  've  kept  the  car !  That 's  right.  I  won't  stop 
for  a  hat.  Your  scarf,  Madge.  Then  I  won't  have  to 
keep  her  waiting." 

"  But  why  must  you  —  "  Lady  Mclntyre  began. 

"  She  has  rooms  at  the  inn,"  said  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg,  with  decision,  as  she  wrapped  Madge's  scarf  round 
her  braids. 

Yes,  Lady  Mclntyre  understood  that.  "But  why 
should  you  be  in  such  a  hurry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  in  any  hurry,"  said  the  girl.  "  Not  now. 
I  have  been  in  a  hurry  —  a  terrible  hurry  for  sixteen  days. 
But  now  -  "  she  smiled  a  bright  contentment  at  her  goal. 

The  instant  application  of  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's 
arm  to  her  friend's  waist  was  less  for  love,  Napier  felt 
sure,  than  as  a  means  of  propulsion.  "  You  'd  like  to  get 
unpacked,  I  'm  certain." 

Lady  Mclntyre,  nervously  anxious  not  to  be  inhospitable 
to  Greta's  visitor,  declared  she  was  not  going  to  allow 
them  to  go  till  Miss  Ellis  had  had  some  tea.  Miss  Ellis 
still  stood  looking  at  her  friend  with  adoring  affection. 
Plainly  she  was  ready  to  do  anything  Greta  liked  —  any 
thing  that  didn't  involve  her  losing  sight  of  this  face 
she  'd  traveled  five  thousand  miles  to  see.  Greta  unwound 
her  scarf. 

"  This  is  my  daughter,"  said  Lady  Mclntyre. 


THE  MESSENGER  21 

"  Oh,  are  you  '  Madge '  ?  Of  course,  I  've  heard  about 
you."  Miss  Ellis  put  out  a  hand. 

Madge  gave  it  a  muscular  shake  and  let  go  quickly. 
"How  do?" 

The  stranger  seemed  not  to  notice.  She  accepted  a 
double  wedge  of  buttered  scone  from  Bobby,  and  with 
great  cheerfulness  she  deposited  three  lumps  of  sugar  in 
her  tea. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  raised  her  eyes  to  Napier's 
face.  He  and  Julian,  several  yards  away,  were  leaning 
against  the  mantel-piece,  pretending  to  discuss  the  Ulster 
situation. 

As  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  across  her  friend,  met 
Napier's  look,  she  smiled  ever  so  faintly,  but  with  enormous 
meaning.  "  Behold  a  child  of  nature,"  the  look  said. 
Then,  "  Did  you  have  a  good  passage,  Nanchen  ? "  she 
asked. 

"Well,  they  said  it  was  a  bad  passage.  I  thought  it 
perfectly  glorious."  Miss  Ellis  had  taken  a  large  slab  of 
shortbread.  Rapid  disposal  of  it  did  not  at  all  interfere 
with  a  description  of  the  amenities  of  an  unchaperoned 
sea  voyage.  Miss  Ellis  did  not  pause  till,  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  a  crunch  of  gravel  and  voices  outside,  two 
young  men  could  be  descried  coming  up  the  middle  of  the 
drive.  They  were  leading  a  couple  of  great,  long-bodied, 
white  dogs. 

The  hall  was  instantly  a  hive  of  excitement.  Bobby  and 
Madge  bolted  out  as  one,  with  cries  of  rapture.  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre,  hardly  less  pleased,  prepared  to  follow,  with  Julian. 
Napier  sauntered  slowly  after  them. 

The  elder  Pforzheim  entered  with  his  brisk  ceremonious- 


22  THE  MESSENGER 

ness,  and  bowed  low  over  Lady  Mclntyre's  hand:  "My 
father  has  sent  you  those  Russian  boarhounds  he  promised. 
Ernst  has  got  them  outside"  —  he  stood  back  in  that 
empresse  way  of  his  that  seemed  to  say,,  "  My  manners  are 
far  too  perfect  not  to  suffer  others  to  precede."  And  the 
others,  in  the  careless  English  way,  did  precede.  They 
even  blocked  up  the  entrance,  leaving  Mr.  Carl  and  his 
politeness  in  the  rear.  This  maneuver  so  obstructed  the 
view  that  Miss  Ellis  rose  and  came  a  few  paces  nearer, 
hoping  for  a  better  sight  of  those  exciting  animals. 
Napier,  glancing  back,  saw  that  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg 
sat  perfectly  still. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  boarhounds  before,  Greta  ?  I  never 
did." 

What  Greta  answered,  Napier  did  n't  hear ;  but  the  mo 
ment  was  not  lost  upon  him  when,  all  view  of  the  spectacle 
being  quite  shut  out  by  the  crowding  at  the  door,  Miss 
Ellis'  attention  —  about  to  return  to  the  tea-table  — 
"  caught,"  as  it  were,  on  Carl  Pforzheim's  profile. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do?"  she  said  with  a  quick  turn. 
"  I  'm  very  glad  to  meet  you." 

Carl  Pforzheim  stared.  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  shot 
forward  and  took  Nan  by  the  arm. 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  the  masses  of  strangers  I  've  been 
seeing,  you  seem  like  an  old  friend.  Tell  him,  Greta  —  " 
At  sight  of  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  face,  she  stopped 
short. 

"  I  think  you  are  making  some  mistake,"  said  Mr.  Carl. 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not!"  that  terribly  "carrying"  voice 
went  on.  "  It 's  because  Greta  has  told  me  such  a  great 
deal  about  you.  And  you're  exactly  like  your  picture, 


THE  MESSENGEE  23 

down  to  the  cleft  in  your  chin  — "  The  girl  hesitated 
again  as  Greta  mumbled,  and  Pforzheim,  with  a  desperate, 
"  I  must  help  my  brother,"  forgot  all  his  fine  manners  and 
pushed  his  way  out. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  dearest  ?  Ought  n't  I  to  have 
said  that  ?  "  Then  in  a  half  whisper :  "  I  never  mentioned 
Ernst.  And,  after  all,  it  was  only  Ernst  that  you  —  " 

"Will  you  be  quiet?" 

In  another  ten  seconds  they  were  whirling  away  in  the 
car. 

Napier  walked  half-way  home  with  Grant  as  usual.  He 
was  amused  at  Julian's  indignation  over  the  von  Schwar- 
zenberg's  patronage  of  her  "  little  friend."  And  then  they 
quarreled  a  little  over  Napier's  decision  that  it  was  cheek 
for  a  girl  to  come  "winged  like  Mercury."  Julian  de 
fended  her.  He  'd  never  seen  a  hat  he  liked  better.  It 
just  suited  that  face  of  hers. 

"  l  That  face ! '  "  Napier  mocked.  "  I  suppose,  out  of 
pure  contentiousness,  you  '11  be  saying  it 's  pretty." 

"  '  Pretty ! '  Pretty  faces  are  cheap.  That  one  has  got 
the  fineness  of  a  wood  anemone.  And  the  faith  of  a  St. 
Francis.  Did  you  ever  see  such  faith  in  any  pair  of  eyes  ? 
Ye  gods !  If  I  could  believe  in  life  as  that  child  does,  if 
I  were  as  serenely  sure  of  everybody's  good  will,"  —  he 
threw  out  his  walking-stick  at  the  prison  wall  between  him 
and  such  freedoms,  such  innocent  securities.  "  It 's  pa 
thetic  —  a  person  like  that.  Think  of  the  knocks  she  '11 
get.  Think  —  " 

"  What  I'  m  thinking  of  —  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my 
mind !  Every  time  I  go  back  to  it,  it  seems  to  me  stranger 


24  THE  MESSENGER 

—  the  expression  on  the  von  Schwarzenberg's  face  when 
the  girl  recognized  Pforzheim." 

"  What  sort  of  expression  ?  "  said  Julian,  absently. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  seen  it !  And  the  way  she  looked  after 
Carl  with  a  sort  of  cowering  apology,  before  she  plunged 
into  the  car.  Now  leave  off  quarreling  with  me  about  the 
Mercury  cap,  and  just  tell  me :  Why  the  devil  should  that 
woman  have  pretended  she'd  never  seen  the  Pforzheims 
before  she  met  them  at  Kirklamont?  I  wake  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  ask  myself  that  question." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  pretended  —  ?  " 

"  I  was  there.    I  saw  them  introduced." 


CHAPTER  III 

THAT  hall  at  Kirklamont  was  for  Gavan  Napier,  as  he 
looked  back,  forever  associated  with  the  most  de 
cisive  hours  in  his  own  fate,  as  well  as  that  of  his  closest 
friend.  It  meant  to  him,  perhaps  more  than  anything, 
the  abiding  memory  of  that  morning  after  the  arrival  of 
Miss  Greta's  "  little  friend." 

He  stood  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  waiting  for  Andrews 
to  bring  in  the  post.  At  that  particular  moment  there 
wasn't  anybody  else  in  the  hall.  There  probably  soon 
would  be  somebody,  Napier  reflected,  with  a  mingled  sense 
of  amusement  and  uneasiness.  For  this  was  about  the 
time  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  was  astute  enough  to  choose 
for  her  little  tete-a-tetes  with  the  private  secretary  —  al 
ways  elaborately  accidental.  Sir  William  would  be  out 
riding;  Lady  Mclntyre  dawdling  over  her  late  breakfast, 
and  Madge  in  the  schoolroom,  as  Napier  could  all  too 
plainly  hear,  practising  with  that  new  ruthlessness  in 
troduced  by  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg. 

Miss  Greta  was  never  so  at  a  loss  as  to  enter  without 
her  little  excuse,  "  I  think  I  must  have  left  my  knitting." 
Or,  sans  phrase,  she  would  go  to  the  writing  table  and 
consult  Whitaker  or  Bradshaw.  There  was  always  a 
semblance  of  reasonableness  in  such  preoccupation.  For 
Lady  Mclntyre  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  going  to  Miss 

25 


26  THE  MESSENGER 

Greta  for  every  sort  of  service,  from  somebody's  official 
style  and  title  to  looking  out  trains. 

It  was  n't  the  first,  by  several  score  of  times,  that  young 
ladies  had  shown  themselves  fertile  in  pretexts  for  a  little 
conversation  with  Mr.  Napier.  He  himself  was  not  in 
the  least  averse,  as  a  rule,  to  a  little  harmless  flirtation  — 
even  with  a  governess.  But  suppose  this  particular  young 
woman  should,  with  the  fatal  German  sentimentality,  be 
really  falling  in  love.  One  day,  as  he  was  sorting  the  let 
ters,  she  had  stood  at  the  table  beside  him,  durchblattering 
Bradshaw  with  piteous  aimlessness.  He  suggested :  "  Shall 
I  look  it  up  for  you  .  .  .  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

With  a  heave  of  her  high  bosom  she  had  answered  that 
sometimes  she  thought  the  place  she  'd  best  go  to  was  the 
bottom  of  Kirklamont  Loch.  Only  the  timely  entrance  of 
a  servant  with  a  telegram  had,  Napier  felt,  saved  him  from 
a  most  inconvenient  scene.  He  reflected  anxiously  upon 
the  high  rate  of  suicide  in  Germany.  It  would  be  very 
awful  if  for  sake  of  his  beaux  yeux  Miss  Greta  should 
find  a  watery  grave. 

He  looked  at  the  clock.  If  the  post  was  late,  so  was 
Miss  von  Schwarzenberg. 

Suddenly  it  came  over  Napier  that  she  timed  these  en 
trances  of  hers,  not  according  to  the  clock,  and  not  accord 
ing  to  his  own  movements.  He  was  sometimes  twenty 
minutes  waiting  there  alone  for  the  post  to  come  in. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  he  ejaculated  mentally.  Was  n't 
she  invariably  here  about  two  minutes  before  Andrews 
brought  in  the  bag? 

Before  Napier  had  time  to  readjust  himself  to  this  new 
view  of  the  lady's  apparent  interest  in  him  —  there  she 


THE  MESSENGER  27 

was !  —  in  her  very  feminine,  rather  Londony,  clothes ; 
her  intensely  white,  plump  neck  rising  out  of  a  lace 
blouse;  her  yellow  hair  bound  in  smooth  braids  round 
her  head;  a  light  dust  of  pearl  powder  over  her  pink 
cheeks. 

She  came  straight  over  to  the  fireplace,  "  Mr.  Napier,  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  you  a  moment." 

Napier  lowered  his  newspaper,  "  Yes,  Miss  von  Schwar- 
zenberg." 

"I  don't  know  if  you  gathered  yesterday  ...  the 
Pforzheims  are  old  friends  of  my  family." 

"Oh?  "said  Napier. 

"Their  father  and  my  "father  were  brothers-in-arms," 
she  went  on  in  that  heroine-of-melodrama  style  she  some 
times  affected.  "  They  have  been  close  friends  since  their 
university  days." 

"Eeally."  Napier's  calm  seemed  to  detract  from  her 
own. 

The  color  surged  into  her  round  cheeks,  but  she  held 
her  head  dauntlessly  on  its  short  white  neck  as  she  con 
fessed,  "  Carl  and  Ernst  have  known  me  since  I  was  a 
child." 

Napier  laid  down  the  newspaper.     "  Indeed !  " 

"  I  suppose,"  she  challenged  him,  "  you  think,  that  being 
the  case,  it  was  very  odd  we  should  meet  like  strangers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  had  your  reasons,"  he  said,  as 
Andrews  came  in.  Napier  walked  the  length  of  the  hall 
to  where  the  man  had  put  down  the  bag. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  did  not  move  till  Andrews  had 
gone  out.  She  did  not  move  even  then,  until  Napier 
found  his  keys,  selected  his  duplicate,  fitted  it  to  the  lock, 


28  THE  MESSENGER 

and  at  last  threw  back  the  leather  flap  and  drew  out  the 
letters. 

That  instant,  as  though  she  had  only  just  resumed  con 
trol  of  her  self-possession,  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  hand 
kerchief  in  hand,  moved  softly  down  the  hall  and  stood  at 
Napier's  side.  It  came  over  him  that  this  was  n't  the  first 
time  that  she  had  executed  this  simple  manoeuver,  if 
manoouver  it  was.  He  knew  now  that  he  had  been  im 
puting  to  his  own  attractiveness  her  invariable  drawing 
near  while  he  transacted  his  business  with  the  letter-bag. 
The  little  pause  before  Andrews  left  the  room  he  had  set 
down  as  a  concession  to  the  proprieties.  More  than  ever 
—  so  he  -had  read  her  —  if  she'  laid  traps  for  little  talks 
with  the  private  secretary,  was  it  important  that  the  serv 
ants  should  not  be  set  gossiping.  But  now,  with  an  in 
ward  jolt,  he  asked,  had  he  been  making  an  ass  of  him 
self?  His  hand,  already  inserted  a  second  time  to  draw 
out  more  letters,  came  forth  empty.  He  noticed  that  her 
eyes  were  on  it  as  he  turned  the  palm  of  his  hand  toward 
him,  fingers  doubled  and  nails  in  a  line.  He  studied 
them. 

She  studied  the  letters  already  lying  in  an  unsorted 
'heap.  They  seemed  not  to  interest.  She  pressed  her 
"handkerchief  to  her  lips  and  raised  her  eyes.  "  T  would 
have  told  you  before  — only  —  only,"  — her  beautiful 
mouth  quivered  and  her  eyes  fell  again  —  "you  ...  are 
difficult  to  talk  to." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  Napier,  in  a  tone  of  polite  surprise,  still 
studying  his  nails. 

"  For  me.  Yes  ...  You  make  it  difficult.  Why  do 
you,  Mr.  Napier?" 


I 

THE  MESSENGEE  29 

That  man  must  have  a  heart  of  stone  to  resist  an  appeal 
so  voiced.  "  Perhaps  you  imagine  it/'  he  said,  taking 
refuge  in  pulling  out  the  rest  of  the  letters  and  sorting 
them  into  piles. 

She  stood  as  though  too  discouraged  to  continue,  too 
listless  to  go  away.  But  when,  in  the  midst  of  his  sorting, 
Napier  glanced  at  her,  he  discovered  no  listlessness  in  the 
eyes  that  kept  tally  of  the  letters  he  was  dealing  out. 
What  earthly  good  does  it  do  her  to  read  the  outsides  of 
our  envelopes?  he  wondered. 

"  I  've  been  unhappy,"  she  went  on,  "  most  unhappy 
under  my  enforced  silence.  I  've  wanted  so  much  that 
you  anyhow  should  know  the  truth." 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  especially  —  "  he  began. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  she  said  a  little  wildly,  in  spite  of  the 
hushed  softness  of  her  tone,  "  you  don't  know.  And  it 's  a 
good  thing  —  a  good  thing  you  don't.  But  I  'm  too  un 
happy  under  the  innocent  little  deceit  that 's  been  forced 
on  me.  You  see,  we  had  quarreled,  the  Pforzheims  and  I. 
That  is,  they  quarreled.  They  each  wanted  to  marry  me. 
Oh,  it  was  dreadful !  They  wanted  to  fight  a  duel  .  .  ." 

"About  .  .  .?"  Napier  laid  a  long  official  envelope  on 
the  top  of  Sir  William's  pile. 

"  About  me,"  she  said  with  lowered  eyes.  "  That  was 
why  I  went  to  America.  I  could  n't  bear  it.  I  said : 
'  We  are  strangers  from  this  day ! '  And  so,"  —  she  pressed 
her  handkerchief  again  to  her  lips  —  "  and  so  we  met  like 
that.  I  told  them  I  would  n't  stay  here  an  hour  if  they 
swerved  a  hair's  breath  from  the  role  of  strangers.  Now," 
— -her  voice  altered  suddenly  as  though  out  of  weariness 
after  immense  effort  —  "  now  you  know." 


30  THE  MESSENGER 

Napier  took  out  the  last  letters.  "I  expect,"  he  said 
kindly,  "  it 's  been  hard  enough  for  you  —  at  times." 

"The  strain  is  frightful."  She  swallowed  and  began 
again.  "I-  Maybe  you've  noticed  .  .  .  They  will 
write  to  me  from  time  to  time." 

She  waited.  Napier's  face  as  blank  as  the  new  sheet 
of  blotting  paper  in  front  of  the  great  presentation  ink 
stand. 

"  Well,  is  it  my  fault  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  I  've  tried  to 
make  them  see  what  an  equivocal  position  it  puts  me  in, 
how  unfair — "  her  face  yearned  for  sympathy. 

Napier  went  on  with  his  sorting. 

"It's  too  nerve-racking,"  she  said  with  increasing  agi 
tation.  "  Each  one  thinks  the  other  has  got  over  that  old 
madness.  But  the  letters  they  write  me  .  .  .!  Frantic!" 
She  came  closer  still.  She  laid  her  hand  on  Napier's 
sleeve.  "  Do  you  know,  sometimes  I  'm  afraid  .  .  ."  She 
drew  back,  as  a  step  sounded  on  the  gravel. 

"  The  Pf orzheims !  "  Napier  said  to  himself. 

But  a  very  different  apparition  stood  there.  The  girl  in 
the  Mercury  cap.  Not  so  blithe  as  the  day  before  —  eager 
still,  but  wistful. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Nan ! "  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  said 
again,  precisely  as  she  had  before.  "I  told  you  I  would 
come  for  you !  " 

"  Yes,  in  the  afternoon,  you  said.  But  I  could  n't  wait. 
Don't  look  like  that,  dearest."  She  had  lowered  her  voice 
as  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  joined  her  in  the  lobby.  "  I 
began  to  be  afraid  I  'd  only  dreamed  that  you  were  so  near 
again." 

Miss  von  Schwarzeuberg  answered  in  a  voice  lower  still. 


THE  MESSENGER  31 

Napier  gathered  up  Sir  William's  letters  and  his  own.  As 
he  went  with  them  into  the  library,  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg  turned  hastily.  "  I  '11  just  go  and  see  if  Lady  Mcln- 
tyre  can  spare  me  for  two  minutes.  I  '11  meet  you  out 
there,  by  the  clump  of  firs." 

"  All  right,"  the  girl  said  quietly,  and  turned  away. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  knew  as  well  as  Napier  did  that 
Lady  Mclntyre  was  in  the  breakfast-room  looking  at  the 
illustrated  papers  over  her  second  cup  of  coffee.  But  Miss 
von  Schwarzenberg  hurried  upstairs. 

Ordinarily  Napier  would  have  sat  reading  and  answer 
ing  his  own  letters  till  what  time  Sir  William  should  come 
in  from  his  ride.  To-day  he  stood  by  the  library  fire  — 
still  seeing  that  face  under  the  cap.  What  had  the  von 
Schwarzenberg  been  saying  to  her  ?  It  was  n't  at  all  the 
face  she  had  brought  here  the  evening  before.  And  if 
Julian  Grant  had  been  struck  by  the  happy  faith  in  its  yes 
terday  aspect,  Napier  found  something  rather  touching  in 
the  hurt  steadfastness  it  showed  to-day. 

"  It  is  n't  the  same  face,"  Napier  repeated  to  himself ; 
and  before  he  had  at  all  made  up  his  mind  what  he  should 
do  next,  he  was  going  through  the  hall. 

There  she  was  pulling  off  her  gloves,  and  holding  her 
hands  over  the  fire. 

"It  is  cold,"  Napier  said,  and  he  seized  the  poker. 
The  flames  sprang  up  and  danced  on  the  girl's  face. 

"Oh,  my!  How  nice!  You  are  the  private  secretary, 
aren't  you?" 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little  on  his 
dignity. 

"  Well,  the  other  one  was  '  Julian,'  was  n't  he  ?  " 


32 

Napier  did  n't  much  like  this  familiarity  with  a  Chris 
tian  name  on  the  part  of  a  stranger.  "  Yes.  I  'm  Gavan 
Napier." 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Napier."  She  held  out 
her  hand. 

He  said  nothing,  only  glanced  round  the  hall  in  an  un 
decided  fashion  after  releasing  her  hand,  and  then  put  his 
letters  down  on  the  nearest  chair.  "  I  hope  I  'm  not  in 
your  way,"  the  girl  said.  "  You  see,  I  don't  know  at  all 
what  private  secretaries  do.  You  are  the  first  one  I  ever 
met." 

He  laughed,  and  said  they  were  a  good  deal  like  other 
people  so  far  as  he  'd  observed,  and  did  n't  do  anything  in 
particular. 

Miss  Ellis  declared  she  knew  better  than  that.  "  That 's 
where  you  sit,  is  n't  it  ?  "  —  she  nodded  at  the  big  table  — 
"  writing  your  state  documents.  And  I  suppose  every 
body  goes  by  on  tiptoe.  And  nobody  dares  speak  to  you 
.  .  .  and  of  course  I  ought  n't  to  be  here !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  ought." 

"  No.  I  ought  by  rights  to  be  out  by  the  firs.  But  I 
was  cold.  I  did  n't  see  why  I  should  wait  out  by  the  firs 
when  there  was  a  fire  here  doing  nobody  any  good." 

She  misinterpreted  his  steady  look.  "  Oh,  my !  you 
think  I  ought  to  have  gone  out  and  waited  by  the  .  .  . !  " 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort !  I  should  n't  have  thought  half 
so  well  of  you  if  you  'd  gone  out  and  waited  by  the  firs." 

But  the  wing-capped  head  with  its  overweight  of  hair 
turned  anxiously  toward  the  staircase  by  which  Greta  had 
vanished.  "  I  've  often  heard  Greta  say,  '  The  great  thing 
is  to  learn  instinctive  obedience.' " 


THE  MESSENGER  33 

"  But  why  on  earth  should  you  obey  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg?" 

"  Because  Greta 's  the  cleverest  as  well  as  the  most  splen 
did  person  in  the  world."  She  glowed  with  it.  "  And 
knows  more  in  a  minute  than  I  do  in  a  year." 

Napier  laughed  at  that  reason,,  so  Miss  Ellis  produced 
another.  "  And  then,  you  see,  ever  since  I  was  quite  young 
I  always  have  obeyed  Greta  —  when  I  was  good !  " —  she 
threw  in  quickly  with  a  self-convicting  laugh. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  ?  " 
"  Oh,  for  ages.     Ever  since  I  was  seventeen." 
"  That  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago ! " 
"  Well,  it  is.     It 's  going  on  six  years.     Will  it  hold  me 
too  ? "     She  looked   doubtfully   at  the   brass   bar  of  the 
fender. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  reassured  her,  "  it  would  hold  ten  of  you." 
His  smiling  glance  took  note  of  the  small-boned  hands  that 
clutched  the  brass.  From  the  delicate  ankles  and  the  im 
possible  feet,  up  to  the  slim  neck,  there  was  n't  enough 
substance  in  her  to  furnish  forth  a  good  British  specimen 
of  half  her  age.  Yet  when  she  stood  up  she  was  not  only 
tall,  she  was  almost  commanding.  That  was  partly  car 
riage,  he  decided,  and  partly  —  well,  what  was  it? 

"  The  trouble  about  Greta,"  she  went  on,  "  is  that  she 's 
a  person  everybody  is  always  wanting.  Then,  added  to 
that,  she  is  the  best  daughter  in  the  world.  Every  year 
she  went  home  for  several  months.  But  she  always  got 
back  in  time ! "  The  girl  smiled  an  odd  smile,  not  as 
though  intended  for  Napier  at  all.  "  She  always  got  back 
(we've  often  talked  about  it)  just  as  I  was  about  to  com 
mit  some  awful  mistake." 


34  THE  MESSENGER 

Napier  was  morally  certain  he  could  have  got  her  —  if 
only  for  the  honor  and  glory  of  Greta  —  to  enumerate  one 
or  two  of  these  timely  rescues,  if,  by  a  stroke  of  rank  bad 
luck,  Julian  had  n't  appeared  at  that  moment. 

"Oh,  my!"  said  Miss  Ellis  under  her  breath  —  which 
was  silly  as  well  as  slightly  irritating. 

With  a  casual  "  Hello ! "  Julian  came  marching  over  to 
the  fireplace. 

"You're  being  very  energetic  all  of  a  sudden,"  Napier 
said,  with  his  smiling  malice.  "This  early  worm,  Miss 
Ellis,  is  Mr.  Grant." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  to  meet  you."  She  stood  up  and  held 
out  her  hand. 

"  Has  n't  it  been  a  splendid  morning  ? "  she  asked. 
And  did  they  have  many  days  so  un-Scotch-misty  as 
this? 

They  went  on  uttering  banalities  about  the  morning  and 
the  countryside,  and  smiling  into  each  other's  faces. 

Napier  sat  on  the  fender-stool,  chuckling  to  himself. 
Fancy  old  Julian!  Do  him  all  the  good  in  the  world  to 
have  a  girl  looking  at  him  like  that. 

She  did  so  want  to  see  as  much  as  ever  she  could  of 
"  this  lovely  coast."  Perhaps  Mr.  Grant  would  advise  her 
\vhat  to  begin  with? 

Oh,  Julian  could  advise.  There  was  nothing  he  was 
readier  at. 

"Stop!  stop!"  the  girl  interrupted,  "I  mustn't  be 
made  greedier  than  I  am;  for  I  've  only  got  two  or  three 
days." 

"Two  or  three—  !  Where  are  you  going?"  Julian 
demanded. 


THE  MESSENGER  35 

"  Greta  thinks  London." 

"  London  ?  " 

"Well,  there  is  the  National  Gallery,  and  the  old  city 
churches,"  Nan  said,  with  marked  absence  of  enthusiasm. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  really  but  I  shall  find  it  perfectly 
fascinating  .  .  .  And  then  from  time  to  time  Greta  will 
run  up  for  a  day  or  two." 

"  It  is  n't  my  business,"  Julian  said,  in  that  tone  people 
use  when  they  have  definitely  adopted  the  business  in 
question,  "but  it  sounds  to  me  the  very  poorest  —  "  He 
left  it  hanging  there. 

"  Surely,"  Napier  •  observed  quietly,  "  when  you  came, 
you  meant  to  stay  longer  ?  " 

"  Oh  —  yes !  when  I  first  came.  But,  you  see,  I  did  n't 
understand.  I  thought  being  a  governess  here  was  like 
being  a  governess  at  home."  And  quickly,  as  though  to 
obliterate  any  suggestion  of  odious  comparison,  "  Perhaps 
it  '&  because  we  have  so  few  governesses  in  California." 

"  Well,  does  that  make  it  different  for  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  give  them  time  to  themselves.  I  —  I  don't 
criticize  your  way,"  she  threw  in,  a  little  flustered  to  find 
where  she  was  going  —  "  only  we  —  Oh,  here  is  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre ! "  she  ended  with  much  relief. 

The  manners  of  the  lady  of  Kirklamont  were  in  marked 
contrast  to  her  pinched  and  chilled  appearance.  Her  fair 
ness  was  the  kind  that  goes  with  a  slightly  reddened  nose 
and  a  faint,  bluish  tinge  about  the  mouth  at  this  hour  of 
the  morning.  She  was  most  genial  to  Miss  Ellis,  and  the 
girl  was,  in  her  turn,  won  to  ease  and  confidence. 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  won't  sit  down.  I  did  n't  mean  to 
stay  but  half  a  minute  .  .  .  though  I  'm  afraid  Greta  may 


36  THE  MESSENGER 

think,  even  now,  that  I  still  don't  understand  that  her 
time  belongs  to  you." 

"  But  we  are  not  such  slave  drivers !  "  The  little  lady 
shook  her  diamond  earrings.  Greta  could  certainly  take 
any  day  off  to  be  with  her  friend,  and  every  day,  she  of 
course  had  several  hours  at  her  disposal,  whenever  she 
wished. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  in  the  act  of  descending  the 
stairs,  had  paused  the  fraction  of  a  second.  "  Oh,  there 
you  are ! "  she  threw  over  the  banisters  toward  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre. 

It  occurred  to  Napier  that  the  girl  standing  between 
him  and  Julian  was  a  little  uneasy  at  being  found  so  far 
this  side  of  the  firs. 

"Yes,"  Lady  Mclntyre  said,  "I  was  just  arranging 
with  Miss  Ellis  that  she  must  stay  to  luncheon." 

"  And  /  was  just  going  to  ask  if  you  'd  consent  to  our 
plan,"  Greta  said  as  she  joined  the  group.  "  We  thought 
of  lunching  at  the  inn." 

At  sight  of  the  smile  on  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  face 
—  still  more  at  her  "  plan,"  —  the  slight  cloud  of  dubiety 
vanished  from  Miss  Ellis.  She  stood  in  full  sunshine. 

"  But  why  not  lunch  here  ?  "  urged  Lady  Mclntyre. 

"We  want  to  talk  America,  don't  we?  And  the  old 
days?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  her  enraptured  friend. 

"Well,  then,"  —  Lady  Mclntyre  fell  in  with  what  she 
took  to  be  the  previous  arrangement  —  "  you  '11  bring  her 
back  to  tea." 

They  all  saw  Miss  Ellis  to  the  door,  and  Miss  Greta  saw 
her  to  the  first  gate. 


THE  MESSENGEK  37 

"  I  say,"  remarked  Julian,  when  the  lady  of  the  house 
had  also  disappeared,  "why  shouldn't  we  take  those  two 
girls  around?" 

"  Sir  William.     He  'd  never  stand  it." 

"  No,  no !  But  after.  He  plays  before  tea,  does  n't 
he?" 

"  Yes,  before." 

"  Very  well,  then.  We  '11  take  'em  round  after.  I  '11 
come  with  the  motor."  He  caught  up  his  cap.  "  You 
arrange  it  with  the  Paragon."  Julian  bolted  off  toward 
the  footpath  leading  to  the  inn. 

Did  she  realize  that,  the  woman  coming  back  with  the 
reflective  air  ?  Apparently  not.  She  lifted  her  bent  head, 
and  when  she  saw  Napier  was  waiting  there  at  the  door 
alone  she  smiled.  She  was  certainly  very  charming  when 
she  smiled. 

"  I  don't  want  to  disparage  the  golfing  powers  of  either 
Bobby  or  Madge,"  Napier  said,  "  but  what  do  you  say  to  a 
round  with  me  after  tea  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  oddly.  It  struck  Napier  that  she 
did  n't  apply  her  formula,  "  You  are  very  kind."  He 
was  conscious  of  a  slight  embarrassment  under  her 
scrutiny. 

"  You  say  that  because  Lady  Mclntyre  asked  you  to." 

"  Not  only  for  that  reason." 

Whereat  Miss  Greta  lowered  her  eyes.  "Wh<*t  should 
I  do  about  Nan  Ellis?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  we  've  thought  of  that.  Mr.  Grant  will  look  after 
her  while  you  and  I  —  "  he  smiled.  "  Shall  we  say  half - 
past  five  ?  " 

The  china-blue  eyes  turned  to  the  open  door  and  to  the 


38  THE  MESSENGER 

gaitered  rotundity  approaching  —  Sir  William  coming  up 
from  the  stable.  "  Half-past  five,  then,"  she  murmured. 
On  her  way  to  the  schoolroom  she  caught  up  a  book  with 
the  air  of  one  who  finds  at  last  a  boon  long  sought. 

Sir  William  was  inclined  to  be  facetious  over  "  catching 
you  and  the  Incomparable  One.  I  've  always  known  the 
day  would  come  .  .  ." 

Instead  of  tackling  the  letters,  he  went  on  with  his 
absurd  chaffing. 

"The  fact  is,"  Napier  said,  when  he  had  shut  the  li 
brary  door,  "  I  Ve  been  wanting  to  say  a  word  about  this 
lady." 

"  What 's  up  ?  "     Sir  William  was  still  smiling  roguishly. 

"  I  'm  thinking  of  the  matter  of  the  translation.  Surely 
an  official  document  of  that  description  ought  not  to  be  in 
chance  hands." 

What  did  he  mean  ?     It  had  n't  been  in  chance  hands. 

It  had  been  in  the  hands  of  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg. 
And  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  Napier  reminded  his  chief, 
was  an  outsider.  Or,  if  not  that  (hastily  he  readjusted 
himself  to  the  Mclntyre  view)  she  was  at  all  events  out 
side  the  official  circle. 

"  My  dear  boy,  of  course  she  is.  She  is  a  woman.  And 
beyond  knowing  an  English  equivalent  for  a  German  word, 
she  understands  as  much  about  the  bearing  of  a  paper  on 
International  Commerce  —  as  much  as  that  Aberdeen 
terrier." 

"I  think,  sir,  you  underrate  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's 
intelligence." 

"  Or  maybe  you,"  said  Sir  William,  wrinkling  his  little 


THE  MESSENGEB  39 

nose   with   silent   laughter,   "  maybe   you   underrate   the 
Aberdeen's/' 

Miss  Greta  did  not  produce  her  friend  at  tea  time. 
"  Nan  does  n't  care  about  tea.  Americans  don't,  you  know. 
She  will  meet  us  at  the  links." 

And  it  so  fell  out- 

If  Miss  Ellis  did  n't  "  take  to  "  tea,  she  "  took  to  "  golf 
"  as  if  she  'd  been  a  born  Scot,"  according  to  Julian.  Why 
on  earth  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  should  want  to  go  on  try 
ing  when  the  power  to  hit  a  ball  was  so  obviously  not 
among  her  many  gifts,  passed  Napier's  understanding. 
It  struck  him  as  rather  nice  of  her  that  she  was  n't  the 
least  disturbed  by  Nan's  swinging  efficiency.  Was  that 
because  it  got  rid  of  her  ?  —  put  wide  stretches  of  sand 
and  gorse  between  the  ill-matched  couples  ?  Napier  would 
hardly  have  stood  it  so  amiably  but  for  Julian's  disarming 
frankness  as  to  the  satisfaction  he,  at  all  events,  was  de 
riving  from  the  arrangement. 

And  Nan  —  planted  high  above  a  bunker,  hair  rather 
wild,  face  sparkling  with  zest  for  the  game,  or  for  the 
company,  or  for  that  she  was  Nan  Ellis. 

"  Look  at  her ! "  Julian  said,  on  a  note  so  new  in 
Napier's  experience  of  him  that  he  stood  silent  a  mo 
ment,  looking,  not  at  the  girl,  but  at  his  friend. 

Napier  was  still  in  the  phase  of  being  immensely  di 
verted  at  the  spiffing  progress  of  old  Julian's  flirtation  — 
so  much  better  for  him  than  addling  his  brains  over  that 
scheme  of  internationalism  that  was  going  to  save  the 
world. 


40  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Look  at  her,"  Julian  repeated,  "  did  you  ever  see  any 
body  so,  so  ...  God  's-in-His-Heaven,-all  's-well-with-the- 

world!" 

"  Look  here,  Julian,  I  hope  you  're  not  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  do  you  know,  I  'm  afraid  I  am,"  said  his  friend. 
"I  don't  really  quite  understand  what  it  is  that's  hap 
pened.  But  something  has." 

With  that  childlike  directness  that  was  part  of  Julian's 
charm  for  the  more  complex  mind,  he  turned  to  Napier 
just  before  the  von  Schwarzenberg  came  within  earshot. 
"  There 's  a  fly  in  the  precious  ointment,"  he  said.  "  This 
rot  about  her  going  to  London.  Look  here,  Napier,  the 
von  Schwarzenberg  woman  would  do  anything  for  you. 
Make  her  leave  the  girl  in  peace  here." 

"  Impossible ! "  Napier  said  with  decision.  "  How 
could  I  ask  such  a  thing,  you  unpractical  being !  " 

"  That  woman  "  was  too  near  now  for  more,  and  Julian 
sheered  off  toward  the  figure  on  the  sky-line. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hall,  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg 
talked  more  intimately  than  ever  she  had  to  Napier.  She 
told  him  about  her  home  in  Hanover.  About  her  child 
hood.  Her  "years  of  exile."  So  she  spoke  of  America. 
She  had  a  story  of  how  an  odious  Chicago  millionaire  had 
wanted  to  marry  her. 

"  But  why  do  I  tell  you  all  this?  " 

Napier  too  had  been  wondering. 

"It  must  be,"  she  went  on,  "because  you  are  a  little 
less  'remote'  this  evening,  and  I  am  suffering  from 
Heimweh." 

In  a  sturdy,  practical  tone  Napier  advised  her  not  to 
give  way  to  that !  In  order  to  divert  her  thoughts,  "  What 


THE  MESSENGER  41 

do  you  think  of  .  .  ." —  he  nodded  to  the  two  on  in 
front. 

"Of  what  ?  "  said  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  dreamily. 

"  Well,  are  n't  you  chaperoning  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Chaperoning !  "  She  came  to,  suddenly.  Plainly  she 
had  n't  liked  the  word.  "  We  are  too  near  of  an  age  for 
chaperoning." 

"  It 's  not  a  question  of  age,  is  it  ?  "  —  Napier  extricated 
himself  quickly.  "  But  perhaps  it 's  only  that  I  don't  un 
derstand.  I  never  can  be  quite  sure  about  Americans." 

"  Exactly  my  feeling,"  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  struck 
in.  "  They  are  so  old  .  .  .  and  yet  so  passionate.  Oh, 
there  's  more  than  three  thousand  miles  of  salt  water  be 
tween  us  of  the  Old  World  and  the  people  of  the  New. 
They  're  a  new  kind  of  humanity." 

They  found  Nan  and  Julian  alone  in  the  hall.  As 
Napier  stopped  to  unshoulder  the  golf  bag,  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg  lingered  too. 

"  What  shall  you  do  in  that  miserable  inn  all  by  your 
self  the  whole  evening  ?  "  they  heard  Julian  saying. 

At  the  sound  of  the  golf  clubs  clattering  into  the  corner, 
Nan  called  out,  "  Here  they  are !  "  She  came  running  to 
the  lobby.  "  I  wanted  to  say  good-by,  dearest."  She 
pressed  Greta's  hand.  "  Has  n't  it  been  heavenly,  learn 
ing  golf?  I  never  enjoyed  myself  so  much." 

"  I  wonder,"  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  said,  smiling, 
"  how  many  thousand  times  I  've  heard  you  say  exactly 
that." 

"  Oh,  have  you,  Greta  ?  No  matter  how  many  times 
I  've  said  it  before,  I  never  knew  what  the  words  meant 
till  this  minute.  Good-by." 


42  THE  MESSENGER 

Julian  walked  on  air  at  the  girl's  side.  "  I  say/'  Napier 
called  after  him,  "  don't  forget  you  're  dining  here." 

"Here?  Oh,  no,"  said  the  unblushing  Julian.  "I'm 
dining  at  '  The  Queen  of  Scots. ' ' 

"  Are  you  ?  "  said  Nan,  stopping  short.  "  I  was  think 
ing  of  asking  you,  but  I  did  n't  know  I  had." 

"  You  had  n't." 

"Oh!  and  do  you  in  Scotland,"  she  laughed,  "invite 
yourself  to  dinner  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  it 's  an  inn." 

They  went  off  arguing,  laughing. 

The  hall  seemed  to  grow  suddenly  dark.  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg  leaned  against  the  big  table  as  she  un 
wound  her  scarf. 

"  Is  your  friend  given  to  these  sudden  —  a  —  these 
flirtations  ?  "  Napier  asked  in  his  lightest  tone. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  spoke  of  "  several  little  af 
fairs."  She  could  n't  say  how  far  they  had  gone.  "  You 
know  the  American  standard  in  these  things  is  n't  ours." 
She  spoke  of  the  sanctity,  the  binding  character,  of  the 
German  betrothal. 

While  this  recital  was  going  on,  Napier's  thoughts  were 
nearer  the  Scots'  Inn  than  the  scene  of  the  German 
Polterabend. 

Should  he  or  should  n't  he  ? 

He  knew  quite  well  he  could  prevent  this  American 
girl's  being  shunted  on  to  the  London  line.  Suppose  he 
didn't  prevent  it?  Julian  would  never  know  how  easily 
Napier  could  have  kept  Nan  Ellis  in  Scotland. 

Should  he  or  should  n't  he  ? 


THE  MESSENGER  43 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  how  extraordinarily  serious 
he  was  being  about  this  trifle.  What  could  it  matter 
whether  this  little  American  tourist  spent  a  few  weeks  in 
Scotland  or  went  to  London  to-morrow?  .  Napier  knew, 
looking  back,  that  he  had  no  faintest  prevision  of  the 
difference  that  the  girl's  going  or  her  staying  would  make, 
even  to  Julian.  And  all  the  same  he  stood  there  in  the 
middle  of  Kirklamont  Hall  with  the  oddest  sense  of  com 
pulsion  upon  him. 

He  must  see  to  it  that  the  girl  did  n't  go. 

"  I  'm  far  from  being  unsympathetic  to,"  —  he  moved 
his  head  in  the  general  direction  of  the  "  Queen  of  Scots." 
"  But,  speaking  of  flirtation,  I  can't  help  hoping  your 
friend  won't  carry  my  friend  off  to  London." 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  air  of  dreamy  sentimentality 
dropped  from  her  as  the  petals  of  an  overblown  rose  at 
some  rude  touch.  She  stood  bare  of  all  but  the  essential 
woman  with  never  a  grace  to  clothe  her.  "  What  on  earth 
are  you  talking  about?  Does  she  mean  to  carry  him  off 
.?" 

Napier  shrugged.  "  I  can  only  say  that  it 's.  highly 
probable  if  Miss  Ellis  goes  to  London  that  Mr.  Grant  will 
find  an  excuse  for  going  too." 

"  You  'd  have  to  prevent  that.  What  would  his  father, 
what  would  Lady  Grant  think  of  .  .  ."  She  stopped 
there,  as  having  indicated  some  unsuitableness  even  greater 
than  might  appear. 

"  All  the  more,  then,"  said  Napier,  as  though  she  had 
given  out  of  those  close-shut  lips  some  damning  fact,  "  all 
the  more  we  ought  to  keep  an  eye  on  them.  But  if  they 


44  THE  MESSENGER 

are  in  London  —  there  '11  be  only  one  of  us  '  to  keep  an 
eye' — "  She  kept  both  of  hers  on  Napier.  "You'd  be 
here,"  he  added,  "  and  I  'd  be  sweltering  in  London." 

"  You,  too,  in  Nan's  train !  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no !  "  he  laughed.  "  In  Julian's,  catching 
up  what  Miss  Ellis  designs  to  let  fall." 

"  You,  too ! "  she  repeated,  as  though  the  calamity  were 
greater  than  she  could  grasp. 

He  nodded.  "I'd  have  to.  Especially  after  what  you 
.  .  .  didn't  say.  And  to  go  to  London  now  would  be  an 
awful  sell  for  both  of  us." 

"  For  both  of  us  ?  "  she  inquired  with  a  little  catch. 

"For  Julian  and  me.  My  holiday  begins  in  ten  days, 
and  we  were  counting  on  having  it  in  Scotland.  You  see," 
he  explained,  "  we  've  looked  forward  to  these  next  weeks 
for  over  a  year.  We  've  spent  our  summers  together  ever 
since  Eton  days.  If  Julian  goes,  I  've  got  to  go  too.  And 
I  should  look  on  such  a  necessity,"  -  —  he  gazed  upon  the 
lady  as  he  spoke,  with  eyes  well  practised  in  conveying 
tender  regretf ulness  —  "I  should  look  on  it  as  a  personal 
misfortune." 

The  stricture  about  her  mouth  relaxed.  The  lips  even 
trembled  a  little. 

Napier  could  n't  imagine  himself  actually  making  love 
to  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg.  But  he  could  easily  imagine 
himself  kissing  that  beautiful  mouth  of  hers.  So  easily, 
indeed,  that  with  some  abruptness  he  turned  away. 

It  was  lucky  he  had. 

"There  she  is!"  Out  of  a  fiery  cloud,  Madge  Mc- 
Intyre,  on  tiptoe,  looked  in  at  the  window.  Her  school 
boy  brother,  behind  her,  was  grinning.  "  Bobby 's  won 


THE  MESSENGEK  45 

his  bet ! "  she  called  out  derisively  to  the  world  in  general. 
The  wind  of  her  scorn  stirred  in  her  flaming  hair.  Wild 
fire  tossed  it  back  to  say  to  her  companion,  "  She  has  been 
able  to  tear  herself  away  from  her  American !  " 

"  I  've  been  looking  for  you,"  said  Miss  Greta,  calmly. 
"  Come  round." 

"  Looking  for  me!  Oh,  my!"  A  final  shake  of  the 
flaming  mane,  and  as  if  Wildfire's  fury  had  shriveled  her; 
had  burnt  both  of  them  up,  she  and  Bobby  vanished. 

Napier  made  for  the  library,  thanking  his  stars  for  the 
interruption.  What  in  the  name  of  common  sense  had  he 
been  about  to  do  ?  To  saddle  himself  with  a  flirtation  — 
or  a  relation  of  some  sort  —  with  this  foreign  young 
woman  from  whom,  with  considerable  expenditure  of  skill, 
he  had  kept  clear  for  over  a  year ! 

"  Mr.  Napier,"  —  she  overtook  him  on  the  library 
threshold  —  "I  can't  have  you  thinking  me  ungrateful.  I 
appreciate  —  do  believe  me,  how  particularly  kind  and 
thoughtful  —  yes,  chivalrous,  you  've  shown  yourself  —  " 

With  genuine  amazement  Napier  faced  her  again. 
"  What  —  a  —  I  don't  understand  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I  can  well  believe  you  do  these  things  —  these 
generous,  delicate  things  almost  without  thinking."  Be 
fore  he  knew  what  she  was  about,  she  had  found  his  hand. 
She  was  pressing  it  in  both  of  hers.  She  held  up  her  face 
—  or,  as  it  seemed,  her  lips.  He  backed  away.  "I  shall 
never  forget,"  she  said  in  her  intense  whisper,  "  your  put 
ting  me  on  my  guard  like  this.  And  I  may  be  able  to  be 
of  use  to  you  before  we  've  done.  Meggie,  where  are  you, 
child?" 


CHAPTEK  IV 

THE  thing  happened  with  a  remarkable  regularity. 
An  expedition  would  be  proposed  by  Julian,  vetoed 
by  Greta.  Julian  would  stir  Kan's  enthusiasm.  Greta 
would  dampen  it.  Yet  Napier  soon  realized  that,  if  Nan 
were  determined  to  come,  Miss  Greta  was  equally  de 
termined  to  come,  and  have  an  eye  on  her. 

So  it  fell  out  that  the  von  Schwarzenberg's  schemes, 
first  to  banish  and  later  to  sequestrate  the  American,  were 
set  at  naught  through  the  agency  of  Mr.  Julian  Grant. 
With  a  perfectly  careless  transparency  he  showed  that  no 
plan  of  a  social  nature  stood  the  smallest  chance  of  en 
listing  him  unless  it  included  the  American.  Whatever 
Miss  Greta  described  in  the  future,  she  must  have  known 
that  at  that  moment  her  only  chance  of  seeing  more  of 
Napier  was  to  fall  in  with  Julian's  program.  After  all, 
exceptional  as  her  position  at  Kirklamont  was  acknowl 
edged  to  be,  she  was  far  too  level-headed  an  expert  to 
leave  her  special  charge  out  of  any  proposed  diversion. 
Since  Madge  had  to  be  included,  Bobby  would  come  too  — 
when  he  wasn't  off  with  the  head  keeper,  or  fishing  with 
the  Pforzheims.  If  "those  children"  were  added  to  the 
party,  Miss  Greta  would  be  left  the  freer  to  cultivate  her 
cautiously  conducted  friendliness  with  the  secretary.  For 
the  rest,  Miss  Greta  bothered  herself  extraordinarily  little 
about  the  friend  who  had  come  so  far  for  her  sake. 

46 


THE  MESSENGER  47 

Lady  Mclntyre  and  Sir  William  were  everything  that 
was  kind  and  hospitable.  No  later  than  the  third  morning 
after  the  arrival  of  Miss  Ellis,  Lady  Mclntyre  made  Sir 
William  stop  the  motor  at  the  inn  and  invite  the  young 
lady  to  dine  with  them  that  evening. 

Poor  Julian !  It 's  all  up  with  him,  Napier  decided,  be 
tween  sympathy  and  malicious  satisfaction,  as  the  girl 
slipped  her  long  satin  cloak  off  her  shoulders  in  the  hall. 

Sir  William  eyed  the  apparition  with  the  appraising 
glance  of  the  connoisseur  in  feminine  good  looks.  Plainly 
she  passed  muster. 

"Well,  Miss  Ellis,  and  shall  I  ask  you,  as  your  com 
patriots  do  me  when  I  've  been  only  a  few  hours  in  the 
place,  '  What  do  you  think  of  this  country  ?  ' } 

"  If  you  did,  I  could  tell  you  a-plenty  right  now.  And  a 
great  deal  more  to-morrow !  " 

"  Why  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Because  — "  She  interrupted  herself  to  go  forward 
upon  the  flustered  entrance  of  the  hostess.  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre's  manner  was  that  of  the  person  so  inured  to  being 
late  that  she  got  no  good  out  of  being  on  time.  But  to 
this  manifestation  Napier  had  long  been  accustomed. 
What  mildly  intrigued  him  was  the  manner  of  the  girl. 
She  had  put  on  a  different  grace  along  with  her  evening 
gown.  Her  slower  movements  had  even  a  touch  of  state- 
liness,  as  though  to  match  the  trailing  elegance  of  em 
broidered  chiffons. 

"  Come  now,  Miss  Ellis,"  Sir  William  repeated.  "  why 
could  you  tell  me  more  about  your  impressions  after  to 
morrow  ?  " 


48  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Because  Mr.  Grant  is  going  to  show  us  a  castle.  And 
Greta  has  promised  to  take  pictures  of  it.  I  suppose  you 
know  how  splendid  Greta  is  at  taking  pictures?  You 
don't  ?  Well,  she  '&  every  bit  as  good  as  a  professional." 

"What  castle?"  Lady  Mclntyre  asked.  "  Glen- 
f  allon  ?  " 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  had  come  into  the  hall,  with 
Madge  clinging  on  her  arm. 

"  We  have  some  delightful  foreigners  at  Glenfallon. 
Germans.  We  owe  them  a  great  debt  of  gratitude  — " 
Every  one  there,  except  Miss  Ellis,  knew  that  Lady  Mc 
lntyre  was  going  on  to  tell,  as  she  invariably  did  to  each 
newcomer,  the  story  of  Frau  Lenz  and  the  providential 
result  of  taking  her  advice.  Xo  one  knew  better  than 
Madge  how  this  repetition  bored  and  annoyed  Miss  Greta. 
When  her  mother  had  got  as  far  as  "  debt  of  gratitude," 
Madge  threw  in  the  information  that  "  the  old  man  wore 
goggles!  And  goes  scudding  about  the  firth  in  the  dead 
of  night  in  a  motor  launch.  Simply  bogey,  I  call  it !  " 

"  It  is  bogey  enough,"  said  Miss  Greta,  gently,  "  to  be 
nearly  blind  and  not  able  to  sleep." 

Julian's  entry  did  not  disturb  the  group  at  the  fire. 

"  If  they  're  so  kind,  those  Pforzheims,  I  wish,"  Miss 
Ellis  went  on,  "  they  'd  take  us  out  in  their  launch  some 
time." 

"  Take  us  out  ?     Not  they !  "  said  Madge. 

"They  won't?  How  do  you  know,  miss?"  Sir  Wil 
liam  pulled  Madge's  ear. 

"  They  won't  take  people  out  in  their  boat.  Won't  even 
take  me.  Asked  'em." 

"Meggie!"     Lady   Mclntyre's  tone  was   shocked,   but 


THE  MESSENGEK  49 

the  look  she  cast  round  said,  "  There  's  a  spirited  young 
person  for  you !  " 

Bobby  came  in,  and  Julian  joined  the  others  in  time  to 
celebrate  the  superior  attractions  of  a  sailboat  over  a 
beastly  launch.  "  I  '11  take  you  out  and  you  '11  see !  "  The 
person  who  was  apparently  to  do  the  seeing  was  Miss  Ellis. 

Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  caught  Napier's  eye.  "  These 
innocents !  "  she  seemed  to  say.  It  was  the  sort  of  cautious 
interchange  that  punctuated  the  entire  evening.  It  went 
on  across  the  flowers  during  dinner.  It  went  on  across  the 
bridge  table  after  dinner.  The  silent  interchange  ad 
vanced  immeasurably  the  sense  of  understanding  between 
Miss  Greta  and  Sir  William's  secretary.  Perhaps  he 
owed  himself  this  relaxation.  Though  why  Napier  felt 
something  owing,  was  n't  yet  clear  to  him.  What  was 
clear  was  the  surprise,  not  unmixed  with  ironic  amuse 
ment,  of  the  man  accustomed  to  be  first  at  the  goal  of 
feminine  interest,  who  sees  a  person  commonly  quite  out 
of  the  running  pass  him  with  easy  stride. 

Napier  found  in  the  unusual  experience  of  looking  on  at 
this  kind  of  scene,  instead  of  playing  the  chief  part  in  it, 
something  that  appealed  both  to  his  sense  of  the  ludicrous 
and,  since  the  person  concerned  was  Julian,  to  his  gen 
erosity.  So  good  for  Julian ! 

At  dinner  Napier  had  almost  pointedly  ignored  Miss 
Ellis.  She  must  talk  to  Julian.  But  by  no  canon  of 
friendship  could  Napier  be  asked  not  to  have  a  little  fun 
out  of  the  spectacle.  It  ministered  too  temptingly  (es 
pecially  with  Miss  Greta  opposite)  to  that  sense  of  the 
ludicrous  which  other  people's  emotional  adventures  are 
apt  to  inspire  in  us.  And  the  more  acutely  and  exquisitely 


50  THE  MESSENGER 

is  this  pleasure  provided  if  either  of  the  "parties"  has 
hitherto  neglected  or  been  deprived  of  this  element  in 
human  experience.  Not  to  know  the  ropes  is  to  provide 
amusement  to  the  old  salt.  Napier,  in  the  character  of 
the  Old  Salt  upon  the  seas  of  sentiment,  sat  and  smiled. 

It  was  only  when  the  party  broke  up  that  he  stood  a 
minute  beside  the  girl,  while  Julian  discussed  his  sailing 
plans  with  the  others. 

"  Why  do  you  look  at  Miss  Greta  like  that  ?  "  Napier 
demanded  in  an  undertone. 

She  laughed  a  little  consciously.  "  Am  I  looking  at  her 
like  that?" 

"  Yes.  As  if  you  did  n't  know  whether  Julian's  plan 
was  a  good  plan  till  she  'd  endorsed  it." 

"  It  '&  quite  true,"  she  answered  in  a  rush  of  confidence. 
"I  don't  always  follow  her  advice,  but  I  always  wish  I 
had.  Heavens !  the  things  Greta  has  saved  me  from !  " 

"  And  what  were  some  of  your  greatest  escapes  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  usual  things.  Thinking  I  'd  better  marry  this 
one,  and  then  that." 

"  But  why  did  you  think  you  'd  better  marry  them  ?  " 

"Because  I  thought  they'd  be  so  awfully  hurt  if  I 
didn't."  She  joined  in  his  laughter,  and  then  seriously: 
"  You  must  understand  they  were  quite  nice  too.  I  rather 
loved  them,  as  you  say  over  here." 

"And  would  you  always  be  ready  to  give  up  the  idea 
of  marrying  anybody  Greta  disapproved  ?  " 

"I  —  don't  —  know,"  she  said. 

"Are  you  really  going  to  motor  her  to  Abergarry?" 
Napier  demanded,  after  Miss  Ellis'  departure. 


THE  MESSENGER  51 

"  Oh,  you  heard  that !  "  Julian  laughed.  "  We  thought 
it  was  a  secret." 

"  A  secret  ?  '  Oh,  my,  I  'd  love  to  see  your  home ! '  "  he 
mimicked.  "'And  is  it  really  three  hundred  years  old? 
Oh,  my ! '" 

"  Look  here,  Gavan,"  Julian  stopped  short  in  the  middle 
of  the  moonlit  road  —  "  don't  say  you  are  n't  going  to  like 
her." 

"  I  don't  see  my  way  not  to  liking  her,"  he  said  grudg 
ingly,  "  but  I  felt  to-night,  if  she  said,  *  Oh,  my,'  again,  I 
should  probably  wring  her  neck." 

"  What 's  wrong  with  it  ?  Bless  my  soul !  It 's  harm 
less  enough.  Some  of  our  up-to-date  young  women 
swear. " 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  mind,  I  suppose  I  must  put  up  with 
it.  But,  I  say,  you  are  n't  going  to  take  her  alone  to 
Abergarry,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Julian  was  smiling.  "  Do  you  want  to 
come  ?  " 

"  I  was  only  thinking,"  Napier  said,  "  it  was  rather 
marked,  your  not  including  the  von  Schwarzenberg." 

"Why  should  we  always  have  to  lug  that  German 
woman  along  ?  "  The  question  came  out  with  uncommon 
rancor. 

"Nan,"  Julian  went  on,  already  with  the  proprietary 
air,  "  is  under  the  most  complete  illusion  about  the  von 
Schwarzenberg."  Something  watchful  came  into  the  face 
he  showed  to  the  moonlight  —  almost  suspicious,  totally 
un-Julianesque.  "7  thought  the  reason  Nan  was  going 
away  so  meekly  to  London  was  that  she  was  dependent 
on  von  Schwarzenberg." 


53  THE  MESSENGER 

Napier  said  that  he,  too,  had  received  the  impression 
that  Miss  Greta  was  financing  her  "  little  friend." 

Madge  certainly  thought  so.  But  Madge  has  a  way  of 
getting  to  the  bottom  of  things. 

She  had  done  it  when  she  came  over  to  say  good  night 
to  Julian  and  Nan. 

"  Miss  Greta  was  very  kind  to  you  at  school,  was  n't 
she?" 

"  Very,  very  kind." 

"  And  she  gives  you  your  holidays  ?  Pays  your  ex 
penses  ?  " 

Miss  Ellis  stared.  "  Expenses !  "  —  and  then  broke  into 
a  little  laugh.  "  Why,  no.  You  are  a  funny  girl." 

Madge  threw  back  her  hair.  She  did  n't  relish  being 
called  a  funny  girl.  She  ached  to  bring  this  interloper 
down  off  her  high  horse.  "  Was  it  a  very  expensive  school 
Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  sent  you  to  ?  " 

"  Sent  me  —  to  school  ?  Oh,  you  have  n't  understood 
her.  I  had  my  mother  to  send  me.  And  she  sent  Greta, 
too.  Mother  used  to  say,"  -  -  Miss  Ellis  was  still  talking 
more  to  Mr.  Grant  than  to  the  girl  —  "  she  considered  it 
a  very  great  privilege  to  put  opportunities  in  the  way  of  a 
person  like  Greta." 

Ever  since  the  days  of  "  wet  bob  "  prowess,  Julian  was 
at  his  best,  Napier  had  always  thought,  on  the  water.  But 
sailing  was  the  sport  he  gave  his  soul  to.  He  forgot  his 
troublesome  theories,  his  quarrel  with  the  world's  order 
ing,  and  yielded  himself  with  delight  to  a  comradely  tussle 
with  the  difficulties  of  navigation,  on  a  rock-bound, 
"  chancy  "  bit  of  coast,  as  he  called  it. 


THE  MESSENGEK  53 

He  looked  his  best  too.  The  lithe  activity  of  body,  the 
extraordinary  quickness  of  eye,  showed  the  dreaming  gone ; 
instead  of  it,  a  mastery  in  alertness.  His  girlish  brown 
hands,  endowed  with  a  steadiness  as  of  steel. 

The  person  who  was  distinctly  not  at  her  best  under 
these  conditions  was  Miss  Greta.  She  had  opposed  the 
boating  plan  as  long  as  she  could.  The  moment  she 
grasped  the  fact  that  Nan  and  Julian,  and  probably  Napier, 
were  going  on  the  water  with  or  without  Miss  Greta,  Miss 
Greta  saw  her  course  with  characteristic  clarity.  She 
adored  sailing !  It  was  only  her  "  sense  of  responsibility  " 
which  had  made  her  hesitate. 

Her  sense  of  responsibility,  if  it  was  that,  went  far  to 
spoil  her  pleasure.  She  had  a  curious  idea  that,  though 
the  coast  hereabouts  was  dangerous,  the  farther  out  you 
went  the  more  you  tempted  fortune.  "  Those  horrcTable, 
rock-bound  islands ! " 

Napier  smiled  to  himself.  He  did  a  good  deal  of  covert 
smiling  during  those  perfect  July  days,  though  he  did  n't 
pretend  to  himself  that  he  was  specially  happy. 

The  initial  reason  he  gave  himself  for  his  state  of  mind 
was  the  breath-taking  speed  of  your  inexperienced  person, 
once  he  is  started.  While  Napier  had  been  giving  a  secretly 
humorous  welcome  to  Julian's  little  distraction,  here  was 
that  rash  youth  planning  to  motor  the  girl  to  Abergarry. 
The  only  thing,  so  far  as  Napier  could  judge,  that  pre 
vented  Julian  from  introducing  the  girl  forthwith  as  his 
future  wife  was  the  trifling  circumstance  that  Sir  James 
and  Lady  Grant  had  just  telegraphed  to  say  they  would  be 
detained  a  fortnight  longer  at  Bad  Nauheim. 

There  were  times  when,  if  Napier  had  been  forced  to 


54  THE  MESSENGER 

stand  and  deliver  the  reasons  for  his  secret  depression,  he 
would  have  been  inclined  to  say  they  rose,  not  out  of  the 
fact  that  Julian  was  probably  going  to  marry  this  girl,  but 
out  of  a  growing  conviction  that  she  would  n't  "  fit  in  "  in 
the  life  over  here.  She  was  "crude,"  as  Miss  Greta  had 
said.  And  she  was  too  independent;  too  impulsive;  too 
.  .  .  what  was  it?  No  repose.  You  never  knew  where 
she  'd  break  out  next,  either  in  speech  or  act.  It  was  n't 
so  much  that  what  she  said  was  wrong,  or  that  what  she 
did  was  amiss;  only  both  might  be  unexpected.  She  kept 
you  on  the  jump.  No  thoroughly  nice  woman,  certainly 
no  wife,  should  keep  you  on  the  jump. 

Curiously,  to  Napier's  mind,  Julian  was  fashing  himself 
on  the  score  of  the  influence  which  Greta  von  Schwarzen- 
berg  exercised  over  Nan  Ellis.  "  I  tell  you,"  he  said  one 
night,  "the  woman's  hold  over  her  is  uncanny.  Part  of 
the  trouble  lies  in  Nan's  sense  of  loyalty.  It's  a  draw 
bridge  and  a  moat  and  an  army  —  horse,  foot,  and 
dragoons.  I  can't  get  past  it.  It 's  a  thing  I  have  n't  so 
far  been  able  to  talk  openly  to  her  about.  And  there  's 
only  one  other  thing  of  that  kind,"  —  Julian's  face  was 
quite  beautiful  in  that  moment  —  "  she  does  n't  know  yet 
—  unless  she  guesses." 

"Oh,  you  haven't  said  anything  yet?"  — Napier 
breathed  freer. 

He  was  only  waiting,  Julian  said,  to  get  one  thing  clear. 
Not  his  caring !  And  not  any  doubt  of  her.  It  was  only 
that  he  could  n't  share  his  wife  with  anybody,  least  of  all 
with  von  Schwarzenberg.  "I've  got  to  know  what  that 
woman  counts  for." 

"  Why  don't  you  find  out? "  Napier  said.     His  own  im- 


THE  MESSENGER  55 

patience,  his  sense  of  suppressed  irritation  at  the  idea  of 
the  Schwarzenberg's  uncanny  hold,  surprised  Napier  — 
though  he  would  have  said  it  was  a  natural  expression  of 
sympathy  for  his  friend.  "  I  'd  find  out  '  what  she  counts 
for '  ...  if  it  were  my  affair !  " 

"  I  was  going  to  yesterday,"  Julian  said.  "  I  'm  think 
ing  I  will  to-night." 

Napier  took  out  his  watch.  "  Ten  minutes  to  eleven," 
he  remarked. 

"  Hang  the  Schwarzenberg ! "  Her  inventing  to  see 
Nan  home  in  the  motor  that  evening  had  been  a  low-down 
device  to  cheat  Julian  Grant  of  his  rights ! 

But  all  the  same  here  he  was,  briskly  leading  the  way 
along  the  cross-cut  to  the  inn.  "  She 's  often  late  getting 
to  bed." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  Napier  demanded. 

"  Going  over  the  hill,  I  've  seen  the  light  in  her  window. 
.  .  .  Do  you  notice,"  he  broke  off  to  say.  "how,  when 
we're  sailing,  Nan  always  wants  to  go  farther  out  ?  "  He 
waited  a  moment,  eager  for  Napier's  tribute  to  the  spirit 
of  the  girl.  "  And  not  foolhardy  either !  " 

"  You  are  making  a  very  tolerable  sailor  of  her,"  Napier 
admitted. 

"  Steady  as  any  old  hand,"  the  other  went  on  eagerly. 
"  And  that  woman  always  interfering.  '  Be  careful, 
Nanchen;  leave  it  to  Mr.  Grant/  'We  must  turn  back 
now ;  look  how  far  we  've  come ! ' : 

There  had  been,  indeed  that  very  afternoon,  a  spirited 
argument,  in  the  course  of  which  a  number  of  prickly  ob 
servations  were  made,  chiefly  by  Bobby  and  Miss  Greta. 
With  sole  exception  of  the  lady,  everybody  in  the  boat  en- 


56  THE  MESSENGER 

thusiastically  —  Bobby  even  violently  —  in  favor  of  going 
out  to  the  Islands.  The  project  was  opposed  by  the  one 
person  with  a  pertinacity  that  Julian  was  sure  could  mean 
only  one  thing.  A  jealous  woman's  determination  to  pre 
serve  her  ascendancy.  To  make  a  test  case.  She 's  afraid 
she 's  losing  hold.  She  must  make  a  stand  somewhere. 
She  makes  it  at  Gull  Island.  We  are  n't  to  land  there  if 
von  Schwarzenberg  dies  for  it.  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
Gavan.  I  '11  get  Nan  out  to  Gull  Island  to-morrow,  or 
I  '11  know  the  reason  why !  "  The  face  Julian  turned  to 
his  friend  in  the  starlight  was  lit  with  radiances  Napier  had 
never  thought  to  see  there. 

"  This  way."  Julian  began  to  tread  his  way  on  in  front, 
among  the  rocks  and  underbrush.  "  I  shall  go  and  wait 
in  the  gorse  by  the  inn  till  von  Schwarzenberg  takes  her 
self  off." 

A  sense  of  utter  joylessness  fell  on  Napier,  as  for  a  few 
minutes  longer  he  kept  the  pace  at  Julian's  heels.  He 
struggled  consciously  against  the  absurd  illusion  of  being 
left  out  in  the  cold.  He,  with  his  hosts  of  friends,  his 
hosts  of  "  affairs,"  scattered  broadcast  through  the  last  ten 
years,  the  Gavan  Napier  of  enviable  wordly  lot,  had  an  in 
stant's  keen  perception  of  the  externality  of  all  these  things. 
He  had  never  lived  through  an  hour  like  this  that  was 
Julian's. 

"I'll  turn  back  now,"  Napier  said  aloud.  The  figure 
in  front  neither  turned  nor  tarried.  On  and  on. 

Napier  smiled.  His  friend  was  hurrying  along  under 
the  stars  toward  a  planet  mightier  for  light  and  leading 
than  any  in  the  heavens  —  a  candle  set  in  the  window  of  a 
girl. 


THE  MESSENGER  57 

Before  Napier  had  finished  sorting  the  next  morning's 
letters,  the  Grants'  chauffeur  drove  up  to  Kirklamont  with 
a  note. 

Must  see  you  before  the  others  come.  Car  will  wait  and  bring 
you  to  the  landing.  J.  G. 

The  slight  figure  was  prancing  up  and  down  the 
strip  of  sand  between  encircling  rocks.  Never  a  look 
toward  his  beloved  boat,  riding  with  transfigured  sails  at 
the  entrance  to  the  cove.  As  far  away  as  Napier  could 
see  his  friend,  he  felt  the  nervous  force  that  was  being 
expended  in  that  absorbed  prowl. 

"  I  nearly  routed  you  out  in  the  middle  of  the  night," 
was  the  way  Julian  began. 

"  You  remember  last  night,  just  to  prevent  me  from 
taking  Nan  home,  that  woman  took  Nan  home  herself? 
Well,  she  stayed  at  the  '  Queen '  a  mortal  hour.  As  if  that 
was  n't  enough  in  all  conscience,  Nan  was  for  seeing  her 
home !  '  No,  darling,  no ! '  I  heard  the  von  Schwarzen- 
berg  say.  And  then  with  that  acrid  break  in  her  sugari 
ness,  '  I  don't  want  to  be  taken  half-way ! ' 

"  There  was  something  I  lost.  Then,  *  My  dear  child,' 
I  heard  her  say,  'you  must  allow  me  here  to  know  what 
is  appropriate,  what  is  expected.  What  is  n't  expected,  is 
that  an  inexperienced  girl,  strange  to  the  place,  should  be 
running  about  dark  roads  this  time  of  night.  You  would 
be  misunderstood.  I  should  be  misunderstood  if  I  let 
you.'  Then  Nan  was,  '  So  sorry ! '  and  '  Forgive  me, 
Greta ! '  They  kissed.  Nan  went  slowly  back  to  the  inn. 
Then,  instead  of  turning  into  the  Kirklamont  footpath, 
Schwarzenberg  came  up  the  hill.  I  laughed  to  myself  to 


58  THE  MESSENGER 

think  of  her  surprise  when  she  should  come  across  me. 
But  she  turned  to  the  left  and  cut  across  the  west  flank. 
I  thought  maybe  the  woman  had  got  bewildered,  going  in 
unaccustomed  places  at  night.  But  she  was  n't  walking 
like  a  bewildered  person  at  all.  Do  you  know  what  she 
was  walking  like?  Like  a  person  who  has  done  the  same 
thing  before.  She  was  making  straight  as  a  die  for  that 
old  shepherd's  hut  the  bracken  cutters  use.  She  went  into 
that  hut  and  stayed  there  three  quarters  of  an  hour." 

"No!" 

"  And  when  she  came  out,  Ernst  Pforzheim  was  with 
her.  They  came  along  so  near  me  that  I  began  to  be 
sorry  for  them.  They  were  heading  straight  for  a  nasty 
jar  when  they  should  see  me.  Well,  they  didn't  see  me. 
They  went  by  not  five  yards  away  from  the  stone  pile  I 
was  leaning  against  —  talking  hard  in  German,  till  I  lost 
sound  and  sight  of  them." 

"  God  bless  me !  " 

"I'm  sorry,  Gavan."  To  Napier's  amazement,  Julian 
was  looking  at  him  with  pitying  eyes.  Evidently,  he 
thought,  in  spite  of  his  friend's  air  of  humorous  detach 
ment,  he  had  been  cherishing  some  genuine  feeling  for 
Miss  Greta. 

The  idea,  especially  in  view  of  the  revelation,  offended 
Napier's  amour  propre.  "  I  had  n't  thought  it  necessary 
to  tell  anybody,"  he  said,  "but  I  knew  there  was  — or 
there  had  been  —  a  Pforzheim  friendship  under  the  rose." 

''  You  did  n't  think  it  necessary  to  tell  .  .  ." 

"I  was  in  the  Schwarzenberg's  confidence  before  .  .  . 
all  this.  I  could  n't  give  her  away,  could  I  ?  " 

"  You  need  n't  have  given  her  away.     The  merest  hint 


THE  MESSENGER  59 

would  have  warned  me.  You  might  have  thought  of 
Nan !  "  he  burst  out  passionately. 

"  Oh,  everybody  can't  be  thinking  of  Nan,  to  the  ex 
clusion  of  everybody  else." 

The  other  man  looked  into  Napier's  eyes.  And  Napier 
laughed  out.  It  was  so  patent  that  old  Julian,  newly 
enlightened  as  to  the  part  love  plays,  had  conceived  the  idea 
that  his  poor  friend  was  the  victim  of  a  tenderness  for 
Miss  Greta. 

Gavan  caught  in  the  toils  of  a  woman  like  that !  —  the 
tragedy  of  it  softened  Julian.  His  face  cleared.  The 
motor  was  coming  back  with  the  others. 

But  the  only  others  who  were  in  the  car  were  Madge, 
distinctly  scowling,  and  Bobby,  cheerful  as  usual.  "  Miss 
Greta 's  got  a  headache.  Not  coming ! "  the  boy  called 
out. 

Julian  was  in  the  car  as  soon  as  they  were  out.  "  I  '11 
go  and  get  Miss  Ellis." 

"  You  can't.  She  won't  leave  '  her  friend ' !  "  said 
Madge,  jerking  her  head  away. 

They  did  n't  sail  that  day. 

•  ••••• 

Julian  haunted  Kirklamont  all  the  afternoon  and  even 
ing.  No  sign  of  either  lady. 

"  I  should  n't  have  thought  she  would  be  so  obvious ! " 
Julian  burst  out,  as  he  and  Napier  sat  smoking  at  the  far 
end  of  the  terrace.  "  To  stick  in  bed  all  day  just  so  as  to 
prevent  Nan — " 

"  What 's  the  good  ?     There 's  always  to-morrow." 

"  She  thinks  twenty-four  hours  will  block  the  business 
pretty  completely,  and  maybe  even  take  the  edge  off  Nan's 


60  THE  MESSENGER 

keenness  about  the  island  for  good.  Anyway," -- his 
forehead  drew  up  into  lines  of  anxiety  —  "twenty-four 
hours  will  give  her  time  to  draw  the  reins  tighter.  She  's 
drawing  the  reins  tighter  this  minute."  Julian  looked  up 
at  the  pile  of  Kirklamont,  somewhere  in  whose  innermost 
Nan  Ellis  was  in  attendance  on  a  so-called  sick-bed  instead 
of  being,  where  she  ought  to  be,  out  sailing  with  Julian. 
"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Gavan,"--he  drove  a  fist  into 
the  palm  of  his  hand.  "You  may  take  my  word  for  it 
I  '11  get  Nan  Ellis  out  to  Gull  Island  to-morrow  some 
how.  You  see  if  I  don't." 

"  You  said  that  last  night." 

"  No.  I  said  last  night  I  'd  get  her  out  there  or  I  'd 
know  the  reason  why.  Well,  now  I  know  the  reason 
against  it."  He  nodded  toward  the  two  windows  whose 
blinds  were  drawn. 

"  The  reason  does  n't  seem  to  mind  so  much  your 
wandering  about  the  mainland  with  her  '  little  friend,' " 
Napier  reflected  out  loud.  "  She  seems  to  have  a  special 
scunner  against  islands.  Why  ?  " 

"  Especially  against  Gull  Island,"  Julian  agreed.  And 
he  too  echoed,  "Why?" 

To  the  general  surprise,  Nan  Ellis  had  risen  early  and 
vanished.  Miss  Greta  had  fallen  asleep  and,  opening  her 
eyes  at  eight  —  no  Nan.  The  disappearance  exercised  a 
strikingly  curative  effect  upon  Miss  Greta.  She  rose  and 
dressed,  and  herself  conducted  a  search.  "  /  know !  "  she 
said  at  last.  "  Nan  has  gone  to  get  fresh  clothes.  She 
has  a  mania  for  never  wearing  twice  what  she  calls  a  'shirt 
waist.' " 


61 

Sir  William  had  already  left  the  breakfast  table,  and 
every  one  but  Napier  had  finished.  Still  Miss  Greta 
lingered.  "  She  must  come  soon  —  after  leaving  me  like 
that." 

And  come  she  did;  across  the  lawn,  in  full  view  of  the 
dining-room  windows,  walking  at  Julian  Grant's  side, 
looking  up  into  his  face;  Julian,  talking  with  great  ear 
nestness,  his  right  hand,  palm  upward,  now  raised,  now 
lowered,  with  that  weighing  action  Napier  knew  so  well. 
They  parted  when  they  reached  the  path,  and  Nan  came 
on  alone,  "Julian,"  she  announced  with  no  apparent  self- 
consciousness  in  use  of  his  name — -""Julian  's  coming  back 
to  take  me  for  a  sail,  whether  anybody  else  wants  to  go  or 
not." 

"  Oh,  really ! "  Miss  Greta  exchanged  a  look  with 
Napier. 

"  Thank  you ! "  said  Madge  at  her  prickly  pertest. 
"  Since  you  are  so  pressing  —  " 

"  We  must  wait  for  the  letters ! "  It  was  so  that  Miss 
Greta,  coming  out  into  the  hall,  announced  her  intention 
of  being  one  of  the  party.  So,  too,  she  betrayed  her 
cherished  hope  that  Napier  might  join  them. 

"  Of  course  Gavan  must  go."  He,  Sir  William,  was  n't 
going  to  be  a  spoil-sport !  And  he  announced  the  fact  with 
a  roguish  significance  that  made  Miss  Greta  cast  down  her 
eyes.  When  she  lifted  them,  there  was  the  bag.  It  proved 
a  light  post.  Sir  William  tore  open  two  or  three  envelopes 
while  he  stood  there. 

"  Anything  in  the  papers  ? "  Miss  Greta  asked  Na 
pier. 

A  dance  at  the  outsides  of  her  own  letters  seemed  to 


62  THE  MESSENGER 

satisfy  her.  Did  she  read  other  people's  with  the  same 
facility? 

"  The  papers  don't  seem  to  have  come,"  Napier  an 
swered. 

"  Not  come !  I  wonder  why !  "  She  listened  while  he 
explained,  in  the  easy  British  fashion,  "that  now  and 
then  the  fella  at  the  Junction  would  forget  to  throw  the 
papers  out." 

"And  you  stand  that?  Sir  William  doesn't  get  the 
man  dismissed  ?  " 

"  What  the  devil  .  .  . !  "  Sir  William  broke  out.  Ap 
parently  there  were  things  which  Sir  William  could 
not  stand!  One  of  them  was  in  the  letter  he  held  as 
he  went  fuming  toward  the  library,  with  Napier  at  his 
heels. 

"Shut  the  door!  Look  here.  The  fact  of  that  con 
fidential  memorandum  being  in  the  hands  of  the  British 
Government  is  known.  Known  in  the  Hamburg  shipping 
center,  of  all  things !  Here,  you  see  what  they  say."  Sir 
William  thrust  under  the  eyes  of 'his  secretary  the  highly 
disconcerting  letter  he  had  just  received  from  the  Board 
of  Trade.  "Well — ?  It  certainly  didn't  happen  in  ray 
department.  Damned  impudence ! "  Sir  William  burst 
out,  "  to  suppose  that  any  of  our  people  .  .  ."  He  glared 
at  an  invisible  cross-examiner,  "  It 's  never  been  out  of  our 
hands ! " 

"Except,"  Napier  threw  in,  "to  come  into  the  transla 
tor's." 

"  Translator !  "  his  chief  echoed  pettishly.  Sir  William, 
like  many  men  not  at  home  in  foreign  languages,  quite 
particularly  objected  to  being  reminded  of  the  fact. 


THE  MESSENGEK  63 

"  Translator !  They  are  n't  worrying  about  the  translator. 
It 's  what  you  're  here  for." 

"  I  was  n't  the  translator  of  that  particular  document. 
You  gave  it  to  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  to  do." 

"  To  be  sure !     But  remembering  that  does  n't  help  us." 

"  I  wonder !  "  said  Gavan  Napier. 

"  Come,  come !  "  said  Sir  William.  "  It 's  annoying  to 
have  secret  information  go  astray,  but  it  need  n't  warp  our 
common  sense." 

Napier's  duty,  as  he  saw  it,  to  try  to  turn  his  chief's 
mind  toward  a  possible  culprit  under  his  own  roof  was 
discounted  at  the  start,  as  the  younger  man  well  knew,  by 
Sir  William's  chivalrous  view  of  women.  That  was  n't 
really  what  was  the  matter  with  his  view,  but  that  was 
the  name  it  went  by.  Sir  William  had  married  his  butter 
fly  lady  for  her  painted  wings.  Finding  but  little  under 
neath  the  blue  and  golden  dust,  he  loyally  concluded  that 
the  only  difference  between  Lady  Mclntyre  and  other 
men's  wives  was  a  difference  in  the  hue  and  the  degree  of 
their  gold  and  blue  —  or  their  leaden  and  dun,  as  the 
case  might  be. 

Even  if  women  were  told  things,  they  could  never  dis 
tinguish  what  was  important  from  what  was  trivial,  and 
they  forgot  as  quickly  the  precise  point  as  the  general 
bearing.  Sir  William  had  lived  many  happy  years  in  the 
comfort  of  these  convictions. 

"  I  tell  you,  Gavan,  the  use  of  that  document  would 
argue  a  relationship  with  affairs  quite  grotesque  to  suppose 
on  the  part  of  any  woman." 

The  thought  of  the  Pforzheims  flashed  across  Napier, 
bringing  a  kind  of  relief.  Miss  Greta  might  quite  in- 


64  THE  MESSENGER 

nocently  have  remembered  and  retailed  enough  to  Mr. 
Ernst  for  him  to  turn  to  account. 

For  the  first  hour  and  a  half  of  that  memorable  sail, 
the  Kelpie  ran  lightly  before  a  delicate  breeze.  An  eager 
girl  at  the  prow,  a  watchful  woman  at  the  stern,  youth  and 
manhood  on  board  —  a  cargo  of  fair  hopes  borne  along 
under  skies  of  summer  to  airs  of  extreme  sweetness.  It 
was  the  very  light  opera  of  seafaring  and  of  life.  No 
faintest  hint  of  the  weightier  merchandise  —  for  which 
mankind  takes  risks. 

Julian  looked  back  at  the  receding  coastline.  "  How 
gloriously  Glenf  allon  stands !  "  He  quoted,  "  '  A  great  sea 
mark  outstanding  every  flaw ! ' ; 

Innocent  as  it  was,  the  comment  seemed  not  to  please 
Miss  Greta.  She  thought  the  castle  was  "  probably  not  so 
great  a  '  sea  mark '  as  it  looks  to  us." 

Julian  assured  her  that  you  could  see  Glenfallon  tower, 
"  Well,  a  long  way  beyond  those  cruisers." 

"  What  cruisers  ?  "  All  eyes  except  Miss  Greta's  swept 
the  horizon.  And  all  found  it  featureless,  till  Bobby 
picked  out  a  couple  of  dun-gray  shapes. 

Nan  looked  at  Julian  with  frank  admiration.  "My! 
what  wonderful  eyes  you  must  have !  I  can't  see  a  thing !  " 

"  Pooh  !  Mr.  Grant  is  n't  a  patch  on  Ernst  Pforzheim," 
said  Bobby. 

"  Oh,  you  and  your  Pforzheims !  "  Julian  scoffed. 

With  his  Scotch  tenacity,  Bobby  stuck  to  his  guns. 
"  All  I  'm  saying  is,  Mr.  Ernst  can  do  better  than  see  a 
ship  when  it 's  so  far  away  nobody  else  knows  there  's  a 
ship  there  at  all.  He  can  tell  you  what  she  is !  " 

"  Any  one  with  good  sight,"  said  Miss  Greta,  "  can  be 


THE  MESSENGER  65 

trained.  In  German  schools,  she  went  on,  a  study  of 
silhouettes  was  just  part  of  the  ordinary  discipline  of  the 
eye. 

Julian  was  deflecting  Madge's  course  to  the  left  of  Gull 
Island. 

"  Oh,  do  let  us  go  a  little  nearer !  "  the  girl  implored. 

"  No ! "  came  from  Miss  Greta's  cushions  in  the  stern ; 
"  the  .  .  .  the  channel  is  n't  safe !  " 

Julian  began  to  tell  about  bird-nesting  over  there  when 
he  was  a  boy.  And  a  cave  the  smugglers  had  used  — 

"  Oh,  my !  "  came  the  familiar  note.  "  We  simply  must 
go  and  explore !  " 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Greta  decisively.     "  No !  " 

Napier  caught  Julian's  eye.  "  Why  ?  "  they  both  asked 
silently. 

And  now  even  the  devoted  Nan  was  ready  with,  "  Dearest 
Greta,  why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  it  —  it 's  too  dangerous,  I  tell  you  !  "  She  had 
carried  a  handkerchief  to  her  lips.  Over  the  handker 
chief  the  eyes  looked  out  to  the  Gull  rocks,  with  an  ex 
pression  not  easy  to  define.  But  Napier  felt  as  clearly  as 
ever  he  'd  felt  anything  in  his  life :  she  will  do  something 
to  prevent  those  two  from  wandering  away  together  on  Gull 
Island.  What  would  she  do?  Wliat  could  she  do?  He 
lay  in  the  boat  and  speculated. 

Certainly  Miss  Greta's  conception  of  her  responsibility 
for  the  safety  of  her  charges  had  produced  a  curious  agi 
tation  in  that  lady.  While  the  others  were  arguing,  she 
dashed  her  handkerchief  down  from  her  lips,  that  were  seen 
to  be  trembling,  and  called  out  roughly,  "  Madge !  I  for 
bid  it !  " 


66  THE  MESSENGER 

"Why  .  .  .  Miss    Greta?"    said    the    astonished    girl, 
staring  at  her  altered  idol  with  wide  eyes. 

"  You  must  turn  back/'  said  the  lady,  her  bosom  heav 
ing. 

Whether  Julian  did  n't  hear,  or  would  n't  hear,  Napier 
did  n't  know.     Nan  Ellis  had  turned  to  look  at  the  island. 
She  leaned  far  out  over  the  bow.     Motionless  as  a  figure 
head,  she  faced  the  islands  and  the  outer  sea.     The  wind 
drowned  Greta's  protest  —  it  blew  the  girl's   loose  hair 
straight  back  —  it  made  a  booming  in  the  sail. 
"  Mr.  Grant,  I  refuse  to  let  them  land !  " 
Julian  stared  at  her.     Miss  Greta  made  an  effort  to 
speak  in  a  more  normal  tone.     "  It 's  too  —  too  dangerous," 
she  said  hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  Julian  said.  "  They  can  stay  in  the 
boat." 

"  Then  why,"  —  her  voice  rose  again  —  "  why  are  you 
going  so  near  ?  You  just  want  to  tantalize  them !  " 

"  They  won't  be  half  so  tantalized,  will  you,  Madge,  if 

somebody  goes  and  brings  back  the  news.     I  have  n't  been 

there  for  a  dozen  years  —  nor  anybody  else,  I  should  say." 

The  boat  was  cutting  through  the  bright  water  at  a 

great  speed.     The  wind  sang  in  the  sail. 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  half  rose.  "  Stop !  "  she  cried 
out.  "I  —  I  'm  dizzy  —  I  'm  sick !  "  She  lurched ;  she 
flung  out  her  hands.  Before  anybody  had  time  to  catch 
her,  or,  indeed,  had  any  conception  of  the  need  to,  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg  had  lost  her  balance.  She  was  over  the 
side  of  the  boat. 

Napier  sprang  to  his  feet  just  a  second  too  late.  Greta, 
in  five  fathoms  of  water,  was  crying  for  help. 


THE  MESSENGER  67 

The  first  Nan  knew  of  what  had  happened,  Madge  was 
screaming  with  horror  and  Julian  was  tearing  off  his  coat. 
But  Napier  was  nearer.  Miss  Greta  needn't  have  lifted 
her  arms  out  of  the  water  as  the  foolish  do,  calling  franti 
cally,  "  Mr.  Napier !  Mr.  Nap  — !  "  before,  most  horribly, 
she  disappeared.  Napier  was  out  of  the  boat  and  swim 
ming  toward  a  hat.  He  dived  and  came  up,  supporting  a 
dripping  yellow  head  on  one  arm. 

Julian  helped  to  lift  Miss  Greta  in.  They  covered  her 
with  coats.  The  two  girls  chafed  her  hands.  Julian, 
silent  with  remorse,  as  fast  as  he  could  was  bringing  the 
Water  Kelpie  home. 

As  Napier  supported  Miss  Greta  down  the  little  gang 
way,  she  pressed  his  arm.  Under  her  breath,  "  You  've 
saved  my  life,"  she  murmured.  "  For  all  that 's  left  of 
it,  I  shall  remember." 

She  would  n't  wait  till  they  could  get  a  motor.  In  her 
clinging,  soaking  clothes  she  insisted  on  walking  those 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  landing  to  Kirklamont. 

Oh,  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  was  game,  for  all  her 
pardonable  panic  at  the  sudden  prospect  of  death. 
Napier  admitted  as  much  to  Miss  Ellis,  as  the  heroine  of 
the  day  hurried  on  before  them,  nobly  concerned  to  tone 
down  the  story  with  which  Madge  and  Bobby  were  so 
pleasantly  occupied  in  freezing  their  mother's  blood. 

Nan  lingered  a  moment  at  Julian's  side  in  the  lobby, 
but  it  was  to  Napier  she  was  talking.  " '  Peril  of 
death '  ?  "  she  repeated,  under  cover  of  the  repercussions 
of  Lady  Mclntyre's  consternation  and  thankfulness. 
"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  make  much  of  the  little,  I  did  — 


68  THE  MESSENGER 

but  suppose  I  had  n't  been  there,  and  suppose  Julian 
could  n't  swim !  " 

"But  Greta  can." 

Both  men  stared  at  the  girl  incredulously. 

"  It 's  none  the  less  good  of  you  —  what  you  did.  And 
very  horrid  for  poor  Greta,  with  all  her  nice  clothes 
on  —  " 

"  She  can  swim  ?  " 

"  Like  a  fish." 


CHAPTER  V 

UPON  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  reappearance  after 
luncheon,  the  family  welcomed  her  with  affection 
ate  enthusiasm.  Lady  Mclntyre  established  the  rescued 
one  on  the  sofa.  Nan  Ellis  brought  a  footstool.  Sir  Wil 
liam  stirred  the  fire. 

Napier  was  struck  by  the  picture  of  amenity  and  cheer 
fulness  presented  by  the  group. 

"No,  Miss  Greta,"  said  Madge,  "you  needn't  be  look 
ing  round ;  the  papers  have  n't  come,  I  'm  glad  to  say. 
You  've  got  to  rest  and  be  taken  care  of."  She  spread  the 
shawl  over  Miss  Greta's  knees.  Sir  William,  from  the 
hearth-rug,  beamed  upon  the  scene. 

"Eh?  What?  Speaking  from  London?"  he  said  to 
the  servant,  who  had  come  in  with  a  message.  "  All 
right."  So  little  was  Sir  William  prepared  for  any  im 
portant  communication,  he  did  n't  even  go  into  the  library 
to  receive  it.  He  crossed  to  the  telephone  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  hall. 

Napier  would  probably  have  concerned  himself  about 
the  message  no  more  than  Lady  Mclntyre  or  Madge,  but 
for  the  chance  that  made  him  aware  of  how  intently  Greta 
was  taking  in  the  swift  change  that  came  over  the  amiable, 
fussy,  little  figure  with  the  receiver  at  his  ear. 

"What?  What?  Say  that  again.  When?  Six  o'clock 

69 


70  THE  MESSENGEK 

last  night  ?  You  don't  mean  it  was  official.  .  .  .  God  bless 
my  soul!  No,  not  a  word.  Our  papers  haven't  come." 
Then  a  pause.  "How  long  did  you  say  they'd  give? 
Not  this  Saturday  ?  Why,  that 's  to-morrow !  "  A  pause 
of  thirty  seconds  followed,  Sir  William  hanging  on  to  the 
receiver,  listening. 

"  I  '11  think  it  over,"  he  said  excitedly.  "  I  '11  call  you 
up  later.  Good-by."  When  he  had  hung  up  the  receiver, 
he  still  stood  there,  rooted,  looking  through  the  wall  at 
some  astonishing  happening  far  off. 

"William,"  Lady  Mclntyre  started  up,  "it's  not  about 
the  boys ! " 

"  Boys  ?  No.  God  bless  my  soul !  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  boys." 

"  Oh,  only  some  government  matter."  With  a  clearing 
brow  she  settled  again  in  her  corner. 

Sir  William  turned  about,  and  went  with  quick,  fussy, 
little  steps  into  the  library. 

Napier  followed  his  chief  a  moment  after,  only  to  be 
told  to  go  and  send  a  couple  of  messages.  "  Hall  tele 
phone."  Sir  William  spoke  shortly.  He  sat,  elbows  on 
table,  head  in  hands,  staring  straight  before  him  at  some 
staggering  vision. 

As  Napier  stood  waiting  to  get  his  call  through,  Miss 
Greta  came  over  to  the  writing-table  and  took  the  ad' 
dress-book  out  of  the  stand.  Madge  hitched  herself  up 
on  the  end  of  the  table  nearest  the  telephone  and  sat 
swinging  her  long  legs. 

"  What 's  up  ?  "  she  demanded,  with  her  laughing  im 
pudence. 

"Is  anything  up?"  Napier  asked. 


THE  MESSENGER  71 

"  There,  Miss  Greta,  did  n't  I  tell  you  ?  It 's  boring 
enough  of  Father  to  pinch  up  his  lips  and  go  out  of  the 
room  like  that  when  he  gets  some  news  that  would  be  so 
nice  and  interesting  for  us  all." 

"  Sir  William  is  quite  right.  A  member  of  the  Gov 
ernment  never  talks  in  private  about  official  business." 

"  Oh,  does  n't  he  ?  "  —  Wildfire  tossed  back  her  mane. 
"  You  know  perfectly  well  Father's  discretion  lasts  only  as 
long  as  the  first  shock  of  any  piece  of  news.  He  thinks 
he 's  done  all  he  's  called  on  to  do  when  he  does  n't  tell  us 
that  minute.  If  you  wait,  you  're  safe  to  hear  what  it 's  all 
about." 

"  My  dear  Madge ! "  remonstrated  Miss  Greta,  sweetly. 
It  was  taking  her  a  long  time  to  verify  that  address. 

Patience  incarnate  at  the  telephone  having  refused  to 
deal  with  two  underlings  in  turn,  waited  now  for  the 
station  master  to  be  fetched.  "  Is  that  the  station  master  ? 
Well,  look  here.  Is  the  new  express  running  yet?  Yes, 
what  time  ?  I  'm  speaking  from  Kirklamont  for  Sir  Wil 
liam  Mclntyre.  He  must  catch  that  train.  Yes,  motor 
ing  to —  Yes.  You  could  hold  it  a  minute  or  two,  I 
suppose,  if —  All  right."  He  had  no  sooner  rung  off, 
than  he  rang  on.  "  Give  me  the  motor-house."  And 
still  Miss  Greta  sat  there,  till  she  heard  that  the  new  car 
was  to  come  round  in  time  for  Sir  William  to  catch  the 
four  o'clock  express  at  the  junction. 

As  Napier  rang  off  again,  his  chief  was  back  in  the  hall, 
giving  directions  to  a  servant  about  packing  a  traveling 
bag.  Sir  William's  family  appeared  not  the  least  excited 
at  the  prospect  of  the  sudden  journey.  They  were  too  well 
accustomed  to  his  bustling  ways.  But  Sir  William  him- 


J-2  THE  MESSENGER 

self  had  the  air  of  being  even  more  wrought  up,  now  that 
he  'd  had  time  to  think  over  his  news,  than  he  had  been  on 
receiving  it.  He  stood  frowning  and  working  his  eyebrows 
as  the  conversation  in  the  hall  died  and  the  company  waited 
for  the  enlightenment  which  Madge  had  foretold  was  sure 
to  come. 

"  Madness !  "  He  flung  it  out  to  an  invisible  audience. 
"Madness!" 

"  Oh,  Ireland !  "  said  Lady  Mclntyre,  certain  of  the  in 
evitable  connection. 

"Ireland?    Not  at  all.     Austria." 

Miss  Greta,  her  envelope  in  hand,  had  turned  about  in 
her  chair  and  looked  over  the  back  of  it,  her  round  head 
slightly  on  one  side  in  an  attitude  of  polite  attention. 
Very  different  from  the  form  adopted  by  the  ladies  of  Sir 
William's  own  family,  secure  as  they  were  in  their  knowl 
edge  that  Sir  William  would  unburden  himself. 

They  seemed  disposed  to  look  upon  the  news,  when  it 
did  come,  as  something  of  an  anticlimax,  for  Sir  William 
preceded  his  launching  of  the  fact  with  an  increased  ac 
tivity  of  eyebrow  and  a  furious  jingling  of  seals.  "  Aus 
tria,"  he  said,  "  has  sent  an  ultimatum  to  Servia." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  Lady  Mclntyre's  last  lingering 
fear  was  laid,  to  rest. 

"  Couched  in  such  terms,"  Sir  William  went  on,  "  as  no 
self-respecting  nation  could  accept." 

Miss  Greta's  air  of  elaborate  deference  suffered  no 
change.  She  heard  that  the  Austrian  Government  was 
plainly  composed  of  a  set  of  Bedlamites,  "scratching 
matches  in  a  powder-magazine." 

Sir  William  seemed  to  have  his  excitement,  his  anxiety. 


73 

all  to  himself,  till  Mr.  Grant  came  in  with  Nan  Ellis. 
Even  then,  Sir  William  had  only  one  person  with  whom  to 
share  the  graver  implications  in  the  news. 

You  'd  say  Julian  neither  heard  nor  saw  the  girl  he  had 
heen  frankly  adoring  as  they  came  in.  Question  after 
question  he  fired  at  Sir  William,  rather  as  though  that 
gentleman  were  responsible  for  the  impasse.  "  What ! 
Servia  is  to  take  it  or  leave  it  en  bloc  by  to-morrow  night? 
Why,  that  means  there  's  less  than  twenty  hours  between 
Europe  and  —  "  he  stopped  appalled. 

They  still  called  it  Servia  at  this  date. 

"  Europe  ? "  said  Miss  Greta,  gently.  "  You  mean 
Servia." 

The  butler  came  in  with  the  belated  papers. 

Sir  William  snatched  up  the  "  Times."  He  glanced 
quickly  at  headlines. 

"  They  don't  make  much  of  it,"  Napier  said. 

"  Naturally,"  Miss  Greta  excused  them.  "  They  are 
full  of  their  own  difficulty." 

"  What  do  you  call  their  own  difficulty  ?  "  Napier  asked, 
as  he  paused  to  turn  the  paper. 

"  Why,  Ireland,"  she  answered  promptly. 

Napier  found  himself  looking  at  her. 

"  There  are  some  sane  people  even  in  Ireland,"  Sir  Wil 
liam  threw  out  over  the  top  of  his  paper.  "But  this  — 
this  Austrian  madness.  No  warning,  no  parley;  a  pistol 
to  Servians  head !  " 

Julian's  voice  overtopped  Sir  William's.  "It  amounts 
to  the  abject  humiliation  of  Servia  —  or  war." 

"  Servia  will  accept  Austria's  terms,"  said  Miss  Greta, 
quietly. 


74  THE  MESSENGER 

"Never!"  Julian  shouted.  "All  the  chancelleries  of 
Europe  will  join  in  protest." 

Sir  William  paused  in  his  trot  up  and  down  that  end  of 
the  hall.  "If  Russia  goes  in,  Germany  can't  stay  out. 
This  time  to-morrow  Europe  may  be  ablaze." 

The  supposition,  sounding  through  those  piping  times 
of  peace,  rang  fantastic.  Napier  remembered,  long  after, 
how  he  had  looked  round  Kirklamont  hall  and  saw  that 
apart  from  Sir  William  there  was  n't  a  soul  there  who  be 
lieved  in  the  possibility  of  war,  except  one.  That  one  — 
Miss  Greta. 

"  Monstrous  as  it  would  be  to  force  Servia  into  political 
slavery,"  Julian  admitted  gravely,  "there  would  be  one 
thing  worse." 

Nan  at  last  lifted  her  voice.  "What  would  the  worst 
thing  be  ?  " 

"  War,"  answered  Julian. 

"  What,  what!  "  Sir  William  caught  him  up.  "  There 
are  worse  things  than  war,  young  man." 

"  There 's  nothing  worse  than  war.  Fortunately,  we  've 
reached  a  place  where  the  mass  of  the  people  know  that." 

As  the  awful  prospect  unfolded,  people  were  not  ap 
palled,  though  they  said  they  were.  They  weren't  even 
unhappy.  They  were  far  too  excited.  And  to  be  excited 
about  matters  of  world-wide  importance  is  to  be  lifted  out 
of  the  petty  round  and  to  catch  at  the  crumbs  of  greatness. 

Napier  went  up  to  town  with  Sir  William.  At  close 
quarters  with  official  minds,  the  younger  man  shared  those 
hours  of  anxious  hope,  bred  by  the  earlier  interchange  be 
tween  Petersburg  and  Berlin,  London  and  Belgrade. 


THE  MESSENGER  75 

Still,  and  without  ceasing,  though  too  late,  as  was  seen 
in  the  retrospect,  England  worked  for  peace. 

Not  even  the  formal  declaration  of  war  on  Servia,  made 
by  Austria  on  the  Tuesday  following  that  fateful  Friday, 
arrested  the  effort  of  the  British  Government  to  avert  the 
catastrophe. 

Five  days  after  the  ultimatum  discussion  in  Kirklamont 
Hall,  the  German  demand  was  made  for  British  neutrality 
and  the  first  shots  were  fired  at  Belgrade. 

Julian's  letters  in  those  days  registered  merely  the  seeth 
ing  and  boiling  in  the  caldron  of  his  separatist  soul.  His 
horror  of  the  Mittel-Europa  plot,  as  it  began  to  unroll,  was 
lost  in  his  horror  of  the  spread,  the  deliberate  inflamma 
tion,  of  what  he  called  the  "  war  cancer." 

Napier  flung  the  letters  into  the  waste-paper  basket  and 
forgot  them.  But  as  he  went  about  his  work,  transmitting 
cryptic  telephone  calls  or  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  con 
fidential  messages,  all  incongruously  a  girl's  face  would 
flicker  before  him  like  a  white  flower  before  the  eyes  of  one 
running  at  top  speed  through  danger-haunted  woods  at 
night. 

Those  were  the  hours  when  Great  Britain  was  pressing 
the  most  momentous  question  ever  framed  by  diplomacy: 
Was  France,  was  Germany,  going  to  respect  the  neutrality 
of  Belgium?  Then  the  moment  when  France  cried, 
"  Yes,"  and  Germany's  silence  was  louder  in  the  instructed 
ear  than  roar  of  cannon. 

Sir  William  had  sat  in  the  war  councils,  and  hour  after 
hour  sat  in  smaller  groups,  laboring  with  the  best  minds  to 
find  a  way  to  stay  the  spread  of  the  contagion.  When  Sir 
William  came  to  a  place  where  nothing  more  could  be 


76  THE  MESSENGER 

hoped  for  or  immediately  be  done,  he  found  that,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  unable  to  sleep.  Country  air, 
home,  if  only  for  a  single  round  of  the  clock. 

They  came  back  to  Kirklamont  to  find,  in  outward  seem 
ing,  all  unchanged.  The  fact  struck  sharply  on  the 
strained  senses  of  the  two  men  who  drove  up  from  Inver 
ness  toward  noon  on  the  first  Monday  in  that  fateful  Au 
gust.  Late  Saturday  night  Germany  had  declared  war  on 
Russia,  and  France  was  already  invaded. 

In  the  hall  at  Kirklamont  Lady  Mclntyre  sat  with  her 
family,  her  Russian  embroidery,  and  her  boar-hounds. 
She  came  to  meet  her  husband  with,  "  William,  dear ! 
And  what 's  the  news  ?  " 

Madge  ran,  her  red  hair  all  abroad,  to  embrace  her 
father.  Bobby,  on  the  point  of  going  upstairs,  changed 
his  mind. 

Sir  William  met  interrogation  testily. 

Gavan  Napier's  first  impression  on  entering  the  hall 
had  been  of  the  still  intensity  of  Miss  Greta's  gaze;  per 
haps  he  was  the  more  struck  by  it  because  it  was  n't  on 
himself.  On  Sir  William.  As  she  closed  the  book  she  'd 
been  reading  aloud  and  rose,  the  look  was  gone.  Amid 
the  heats  of  midsummer  and  of  war  she  stood  cool,  pearl- 
powdery,  sweet,  with  a  smile  for  Napier  now,  and  an  ex 
pression  of  deferential  welcome  for  Sir  William.  Miss 
Greta  left  to  other  folk  all  worrying  questions  aimed  at 
jaded  and  travel-worn  men. 

No,  Sir  William  was  n't  going  to  sleep  till  after  lunch 
eon.  But  he  was  hot  and  dusty,  he  would  go  up.  ... 

They  would  have  tackled  Napier,  but  he,  too,  escaped 
hard  upon  Sir  William's  heels. 


THE  MESSENGER  77 

As  Napier  followed  his  chief  down  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  later,  a  laugh  floated  up.  Nan  Ellis. 

She  and  Bobby  sat  on  the  sofa,  taking  and  giving  lessons 
in  the  tying  of  sailors'  knots.  She  looked  up  carelessly 
enough  at  Napier's  appearance.  "  How  do  you  do  ?  Do 
you  know  any  good  knots  ?  I  thought  you  would  n't." 

"  She  is  prettier  than  I  remembered,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Sir  William,  on  the  hearth-rug,  showed  a  man  already 
refreshed. 

"  What 's  this  about  the  papers  ?  "  This  raised  voice 
commanded  the  hall. 

"Yes,  my  dear  William,  for  the  third  time.  That  was 
why  we  had  to  try  to  get  our  news  from  London.  But  they 
were  horrid,  yesterday,  about  telling  us  anything.  It 's 
not  very  pleasant,"  —  Lady  Mclntyre  revealed  her  con 
ception  of  the  use  of  war  news  —  "  when  neighbors  call, 
expecting  us  to  know  the  latest,  and  find  we  have  n't  heard 
a  word  since  Saturday  morning." 

"Well,  then,"— , Sir  William  filled  the  hiatus  with  a 
single  sentence  —  "  at  seven  o'clock  on  Saturday  evening 
Germany  declared  war  on  Russia." 

Instantly  the  hall  was  full  of  hubbub.  The  excitement 
bred  by  that  tremendous  fact  reached  even  Lady  Mclntyre. 
"  Dear  me !  I  wonder  what  the  Pf  orzheims  will  say  to 
that.  They  will  be  astonished." 

Miss  Greta  went  through  the  motions  of  surprise.  "  Has 
it  really  come  ?  " 

Napier,  observing  her  narrowly,  said  to  himself.  "  She 
knew."  And  then,  "  How  did  she  know  ?  " 

Julian  Grant  came  hurrying  in  with  excited  face.  Be 
fore  he  had  spoken  to  anybody  else  or  so  much  as  looked 


78  THE  MESSENGER 

at  Nan :  "  Tell  us,  Sir  William ;  it 's  only  in  the  country, 
is  n't  it,  that  people  are  talking  wildly  about  England  be 
ing  mixed  up  in  this  horrible  business  ?  " 

"  People  talk  everywhere,"  Sir  William  said  crustily. 

After  Sir  William's  rebuff,  Julian  had  gone  over 
and  sat  down  by  Nan.  It  was  Miss  Greta  who  did  the 
talking. 

Napier  saw  her  leaning  across  Nan  to  engage  Mr.  Grant. 
Most  gentle  she  was,  ingratiating.  As  he  strolled  nearer, 
Napier  heard  one  or  two  of  her  leading  questions,  put  with 
an  air  of  having  no  idea  how  straight  they  went  to  the 
heart  of  the  matter. 

"  Oh,  you  think  that  ?     I  should  so  like  to  know  why." 

Sir  William,  pretending  not  to  listen,  pretending  to  talk 
to  Madge,  lost  no  word;  neither  Julian's  denunciation  of 
the  idea  of  England's  interfering,  nor  Miss  Greta's,  "  Well, 
it  would  be  quixotic.  And  whatever  her  enemies  may  say, 
England  is  not  quixotic."  It  was  the  kind  of  little  com 
pliment  with  a  sting  in  its  tail  that  Miss  Greta  could  de 
liver  with  an  innocence  that  must,  Napier  decided,  console 
her  for  many  an  enforced  piece  of  self-suppression. 

"  '  Quixotic ! ' '  Julian  began  to  tell  how  much  worse 
it  would  be  than  that. 

Fury  rose  in  Sir  William.  Napier  saw  it  getting  into 
his  eyebrows.  Miss  Greta  saw  it,  too,  Napier  could  have 
sworn.  Oh,  she  knew  perfectly  what  she  was  about.  "  It 
is  difficult,"  —  she  supplemented  Julian's  assurance  — 
"very  difficult,  to  see  how  England  could  come  in,  with 
civil  war  ready  to  break  out  at  any  minute.  She  would 
be  sacrificing  herself  for  what?"  Miss  Greta  inquired  in 
her  suave  voice. 


THE  MESSENGEK  79 

"  The  statesman  who  would  advocate  it,"  said  Julian, 
"  would  be  committing  suicide." 

Sir  William  swung  round.  "  You  're  wide  enough  of  the 
mark  this  time." 

"  You  don't  mean  —  " 

"  Our  obligations  to  France  —  "  Sir  William  began. 

"  What  obligations  ?  "  the  young  man  demanded.  "  The 
country  has  n't  endorsed  any  obligations."  He  jumped  up 
and  faced  Sir  William  on  the  hearth-rug.  "  If  behind  our 
backs  they  've  gone  and  committed  us  —  "  Julian's  dark 
eyes  flashed  a  threat  of  dire  reprisal.  Provisionally  he 
wiped  the  floor  with  those  (including,  all  too  flagrantly,  the 
Laird  of  Kirklamont)  who  might,  "  in  their  colossal  in 
eptitude,  want  to  commit  this  nation  to  war." 

"  That 's  your  opinion,"  said  Sir  William,  growing 
bright  red  under  the  friction.  "You  seem  to  think  we 
have  no  right  to  ours." 

Julian  halted  an  instant  before  the  problem.  "  How 
much  right  has  a  man  to  the  wrong  opinion  ? "  Upon 
the  answer  to  that,  he  knew,  had  hung  much  of  the  history 
of  politics  and  religion.  In  another  mood  Julian  would 
have  maintained,  till  all  was  blue,  that  an  intelligent 
bricklayer  had  as  much  right  to  a  voice  in  the  policy  of 
the  country  as  a  peer  of  the  realm.  None  the  less,  in  his 
heart  of  hearts,  as  Napier  was  whimsically  aware,  Sir 
Julian  felt  that,  for  all  Sir  William's  official  position,  he 
hadn't  any  such  valid  right  to  press  his  views  as  had  a 
Grant  of  Abergarry.  Between  mirth  and  consternation, 
Napier  realized  that  this  was  the  key  to  the  renewed  out 
pouring.  It  was  not  so  much  Julian,  but  a  Grant,  very 
properly  telling  a  Mclntyre  things  good  for  him  to  know. 


80  THE  MESSENGER 

In  the  heat  and  fury  of  the  discussion  which  she  had  so 
adroitly  precipitated,  Miss  Greta  stretched  out  a  hand  and 
took  up  her  knitting.  She  sat  there  with  hent  head. 

"Who?  The  democracy  of  England!  "  Julian  was  cry 
ing  to  Sir  William's  angry,  "  Who  is  going  to  prevent  ?  " 

"  If  politicians  don't  know  that,  they  '11  learn  it  to  their 
cost.  English  participation  in  this  war  is  impossible." 

"  So  little  impossible,"  Sir  William  barked  hack,  "  that 
we'll  be  in  it  up  to  the  neck." 

There  was  a  moment's  hush  in  the  hall,  before  everybody, 
except  Miss  Greta,  began  to  talk  at  once.  Miss  Greta 
never  lifted  her  head.  She  did  not  so  much  as  lift  her 
eyes.  Napier  saw  that  she  was  following  the  success  of 
her  ruse  with  an  intensity  that  held  her  hands  immovable, 
as  though  the  rapid  fingers  had  been  caught,  tied  fast,  in 
those  "  field-gray  "  filaments  she  wove,  as  though  her  palms 
had  been  skewered  through  by  the  shining  steel  of  her  long 
needles.  They  stuck  out  at  right  angles,  seeming  to  trans 
fix  the  rigid,  death-white  hands. 

"  Never !  never !  "  Julian  had  cried  out  at  the  top  of  his 
voice. 

"  And  if  we  were  n't  in  it,"  Sir  William  shouted,  "  we  'd 
be  wiped  off  the  map.  What 's  more,  we  'd  deserve  to  be." 

"  I  tell  you,"  Julian  vociferated,  "  England  will  never 
consent  to  be  dragged  into  this  quarrel." 

"  England  won't  be  dragged  in.  She  will  go  in  because 
it  would  be  a  shame  to  keep  out.  She  is  in !  " 

Napier  sat  damning  himself  with  uncommon  vigor. 
Idiot !  that  he  had  n't  foreseen  the  Von  Schwarzenberg's 
agile  apprehension  of  this  new  use  to  which  Nanchen's 
lover  might  be  put.  Too  late  the  realization  that  her 


THE  MESSENGER  81 

baulked  eagerness  for  official  news  had  made  her  egg  on 
Julian  to  engage  his  fellow  Scot  at  their  real  "national 
game  "  —  which  is  n't  golf  at  all.  Debate  's  the  name  of 
it.  Those  two  played  it  with  passion.  Nothing  could  stop 
them  now.  Sir  William  trumpeted  at  Julian,  and  Julian 
skirled  wildly  back.  The  hall  was  in  confusion. 

"  You  said  England  never  would,"  Nan  cried  across  to 
Miss  Greta. 

"  I  said  she  would  n't  be  so  ill-advised,"  was  the  barely 
audible  answer. 

The  shell-shock  of  Sir  William's  bomb  had  shaken  even 
Greta  von  Schwarzenberg.  From  that  first  impact  she 
recovered  her  mental  poise  at  a  price.  Her  face  was  white 
with  the  cost  of  it,  or  under  the  tension  of  some  immediate 
decision.  It  suddenly  came  over  Napier:  she  wants  more 
than  anything  on  earth  to  warn  the  Pforzheims. 

She  made  a  slight  movement.  It  brought  the  clock 
within  range.  Five  minutes  to  luncheon  time.  "  Five 
minutes,"  Napier  said  to  himself,  "  in  which  to  get  the 
news  to  Glenfallon/'  if  he  did  n't  prevent  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  suddenly  flashed  over  Napier  that  he  might  learn 
more  by  letting  her  communicate  with  the  Pforzheims 
than  by  preventing  her.  A  highly  important  conclusion 
about  Miss  Greta  herself  might  thus  be  reached  in  the  only 
possible  way.  And  the  harm  done  by  the  Pforzheims 
knowing?  The  die  was  already  cast.  The  German  Gov 
ernment  knew  that.  The  whole  world  would  know  it  in  a 
few  hours.  The  Pforzheims  could  n't  even  gamble  on  the 
tip.  The  stock  exchange  was  closed. 

There  was  yet  another  consideration  very  present  to 
Napier's  cautious  type  of  mind.  Suppose  he  were  mis 
taken  as  to  the  woman's  designs.  Such  a  mistake,  besides 
being  intensely  disagreeable  to  any  one  of  decent  feeling, 
would  "  do "  for  you  with  the  Mclntyres.  Undoubtedly 
would  "  do  "  for  you  with  Nan. 

All  the  same,  an  expressionless  intensity  of  the  Schwar- 
zenberg's  stillness,  in  the  midst  of  the  hubbub  all  about 
her,  kept  the  observing  mind  alert. 

She  stirred,  she  half  rose.  In  the  midst  of  his  excite 
ment,  Napier  caught  himself  smiling  faintly.  He  caught 
himself,  because  Miss  Greta  had  caught  him. 

"  Devil  take  her  acuteness !  She  would  n't  be  sitting 
down  calmly  at  the  luncheon-table  if  she  didn't  know  I 
had  my  eye  on  her,"  he  said  to  himself.  He  might  as 

82 


THE  MESSENGER  83 

well  have  said  it  aloud.  She  smiled  at  him  across  the 
board.  The  china-blue  e}'es  were  as  hard  as  big  alley 
marbles.  She  raised  her  cider-glass  to  her  lips. 

Nan  turned  to  her  impulsively.  "Do  you  still  think 
—  "  She  stared  at  the  smashed  tumbler  and  the  cascade 
down  Miss  Greta's  pink  frock. 

"  Oh,  Nan  dear,  my  new  dress !  " 

"  Me  ?  Do  you  mean  —  did  I  do  that  ?  Oh,  my !  I  'm 
most  terribly  sorry !  " 

"  If  I  sponge  it  off  instantly  — "  Greta  rose.  Nan 
rose, 

Madge  rose.     "  I  '11  help  you,"  she  said. 

"  Certainly  not !  "  Miss  Greta  cast  back  a  look  not  to 
be  mistaken,  and  hurried  off,  holding  her  skirt  out  in  front 
of  her  and  looking  at  it  with  a  very  passion  of  concern. 

Should  he  bolt  after  her  ?  Eidiculous !  How  could  he 
dog  the  steps  of  a  woman  going  upstairs  to  sponge  her 
frock ! 

Should  he  go  outside  and  waylay  the  messenger?  He 
had  n't  even  the  flimsiest  excuse,  except  one  that  was  n't 
producible,  unless  he  could  catch  her  red-handed.  To 
catch  her  sending  a  note  to  Ernst  Pforzheim,  what  would 
that  prove  ?  Would  n't  any  of  us  in  her  place  want  to 
share  such  tremendous  news  with  our  compatriots,  let  alone 
with  a  lover  ? 

She  was  away  less  than  eleven  minutes.  Napier  timed 
her.  When  she  came  back  she  had  on  a  different  skirt 
and  a  subtly  different  expression.  Whatever  had  been  on 
her  mind  as  well  as  on  her  dress,  she  had  got  rid  of  both. 
The  others  still  argued  and  speculated.  The  staggering 
news  was  new  to  them.  Curiously,  it  was  already  old  to 


84  THE  MESSENGER 

Napier,  old  and  grim  and  implacable.  He  shoved  it  wear 
ily  aside.  While  Miss  Greta's  head  was  bent  and  she 
thought  him  covertly  eyeing  her,  Napier  drank  refresh 
ment  out  of  the  face  at  her  side.  The  little  girl  from  over 
the  water,  what  was  it  she  did  to  him?  The  mystery  of 
these  things. 

Napier  took  Julian  out  on  the  terrace  to  cool  off,  though 
he  said  it  was  to  smoke.  "  I  say,  day  and  night  for  over 
a  week  I  've  heard  nothing  but  war.  Talk  to  me  about 
something  pleasant,"  he  said.  It  was  a  plain  lead,  but 
Julian  was  a  mole  of  a  man. 

"  What  do  you  call  pleasant  in  a  world  like  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  several  things."  From  where  they  sat  they  could 
see  Nan  Ellis  under  the  trees  at  the  entrance  to  the  park, 
and  Wildfire  flying  back  and  forth  through  the  air  —  as 
Nan  urged  the  swing. 

Napier  remembered  that,  in  all  the  heady  talk  before 
and  during  luncheon,  Julian  had  hardly  looked  at  the  girl. 
When  she  spoke  he  did  n't  hear.  Napier  sat  now  studying 
his  friend.  "  Don't  say  I  did  n't  warn  you.  There  's  one 
person  who'll  be  precious  tired  of  all  this  war-talk  if  it 
goes  on." 

Julian  lifted  absent  eyes.  "  Nan  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it. 
You  don't  know  Nan.  Whenever  I  stray  to  personal  af 
fairs,  it 's,  '  Come  and  show  me  on  the  map  where  Luxem 
burg  is,'  and,  '  Just  where  have  they  crossed  the  French 
border?'" 

"  I  suppose  you  're  not  by  any  chance  so  taken  up  telling 
her  where  the  Germans  are  in  France  that  you  don't  know 
whereabouts  you  are  with  America  ?  " 

He  didn't  know.     He'd  been  waiting  till  he  could  see 


THE  MESSENGER  85 

his  way  clear  to  detach  the  girl  from  Miss  Greta.  And 
then  this  appalling  business  — 

Napier's  silence  seemed  to  convey  to  Julian  some  hint  of 
an  unspoken  arraignment.  She  had  written  to  her  mother, 
he  said,  in  extenuation.  "  Yes,  about  me.  She  is  devoted 
to  her  mother.  Yes,  I  've  been  thinking  it  over.  You  see, 
the  Germans  —  " 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  Let 's  leave  the  Germans  to  stew 
in  their  own  juice  an  hour  or  two ! "  Gavan  got  up  and 
walked  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  two  garden  chairs 
and  of  the  man  left  sitting  there.  More  than  by  any  pre 
vious  extravagance  of  Julian's,  some  of  the  things  he  said 
at  luncheon  had  angered  Napier.  They  fairly  made  Sir 
William  choke.  They  were  of  a  character  to  make  Sir 
James  Grant  incline  to  choke  the  speaker.  That  was  the 
knowledge  which  opened  the  door  to  the  fear  that  clutched 
at  Napier  —  fear  of  himself.  Fear  of  the  temptation  re 
vealed  in  this  growing  conviction  of  his,  that  if  he  let 
Julian  drift  on  the  new  tide  that  was  sweeping  in,  it  would 
carry  him  away,  far  beyond  the  securities,  the  privileges  of 
a  favored  son  of  the  old  order.  Almost  certainly  it  would 
carry  him  away  from  Nan  Ellis.  Whether  an  illusion  or 
not,  Napier  felt  that  he  had  only  to  sit  there  in  the  other 
chair  and  do  nothing,  to  see  Julian  blindly  "  do  for  "  him 
self.  As  he  walked  up  and  down,  Napier  discoursed  upon 
woman. 

"  You  mean,"  Julian  said,  with  the  air  of  the  docile 
disciple  receiving  a  brand-new  doctrine,  "you  mean  that, 
in  spite  of  feeling  sure  of  her  —  bless  her !  —  you  think  I 
ought  to  get  something  definite  settled  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  You  certainly  ought  to  find  out  where  you  stand.     You 


86  THE  MESSENGER 

cant  let  it  drift."  He  knew  that  what  he  really  meant 
was  that  he  could  n't.  He  got  up  and  walked  away  toward 
the  loch. 

On  his  way  back,  Julian  was  coming  with  that  nervous 
step  to  meet  him.  Well,  he'd  spoken  to  her.  She  ad 
mitted  she  was  fond  of  him.  "  But  I  don't  want  to  marry 
you,"  she  had  said.  "  I  told  her,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I 
could  n't  believe  that.  Fortunately  for  me,  for  I  did  n't 
see  how  I  could  bear  it.  '  You  don't  want  to  marry  any- 
body  just  now  ?  '  I  suggested.  And  what  on  earth  do  you 
think  she  said  ?  " 

"  How  do  /  know !  "  Napier  returned  irritably. 

"She  said,  'Well,  I'll  just  see  about  that!  You 
must  n't  go  pulling  me  up  by  the  roots  to  see  how  I  'm 
growing,'  she  said.  '  It  puts  me  back.'  And  then  I  very 
nearly  took  hold  of  her.  But  all  I  did  was  to  sit  tight  and 
say :  '  Which  way  are  you  growing,  Nan  ?  If  I  can't  find 
out,  I  '11  have  to  get  Gavan  to.'  '  You  'd  ask  Gavan ! ' 
And  she  looked  so  startled,  I  laughed.  f  So  you  don't  want 
Gavan  to  know  how  you  behave,'  I  said.  I  was  n't  sur 
prised  ! " 

He  brought  it  out  with  an  incredible  lightheartedness. 
If  underneath  his  surface  equability  Julian  was  really 
agitated,  shaken,  torn,  it  was  not  on  the  score  of  his  own 
and  Nan's  future.  It  was  for  the  immediate  fate  of 
Europe.  He  swung  back  to  it  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
hall.  "  I  was  thinking  as  I  came  along  that  our  diplomacy 
for  the  last  twenty  years  — 

A  servant  crossed  the  lawn  to  meet  them  with  two  tele 
grams  for  Sir  William. 

"And  the  telephone,  sir.     Sir  William  left  word  that 


THE  MESSENGER  87 

you —  Yes,  London,  sir."  Napier  hurried  back  to  his 
post. 

Tommy  Durrant  was  at  the  other  end  —  a  message  for 
Sir  William  from  the  Prime  Minister.  Napier  wrote  it 
down.  He  'd  ring  Tommy  up  before  six.  Any  more  news  ? 
King  Albert's  letter,  asking  for  the  support  of  England, 
had  been  read  in  the  House  with  immense  effect.  "  In 
spite  of  some  labor  opposition,  they  '11  vote  the  credit  to 
night;  you  '11  see.  If  the  German  fleet  molests  the  French, 
we  '11  be  on  hand ! "  cried  Tommy  along  the  wire. 
"  Army  ?  Mobilizing  over  night.  Kitchener  's  back  from 
Egypt." 

Under  the  renewal  of  the  hammer-strokes,  Napier's 
sense  of  a  world  blindly  driven  to  some  incredible  doom 
gave  to  the  family  group,  when  he  rejoined  it,  an  air  of 
unreality.  And  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Miss  Greta 
did  not  make  the  mistake  of  ignoring  the  subject  which 
in  all  minds  usurped  the  foreground. 

She  made  her  own  little  contribution  with  an  air  of  en 
gaging  frankness.  "  If  the  war  were  going  to  be  fought 
out  on  sea,  the  British  fleet,  of  course  —  But  you 
would  n't  say  yourself,  would  you,  that  the  British  were  a 
military  people  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  sense  that  Germany  is,"  Napier  agreed. 

"  In  no  sense  at  all,"  said  Julian. 

"  But  Germany !  Every  son  of  Germany  is  a  soldier !  " 
Miss  Greta's  tone  was  just  a  trifle  too  superior. 

But  was  n't  she  right  ?  Even  the  Pf orzheims.  They, 
too,  were  soldiers.  These  friendly,  slightly  ridiculous 
neighbors  underwent  in  Napier's  mind  a  sudden  and 
violent  transformation.  They  stripped  off  their  stage 


88  THE  MESSENGER 

tweeds,  their  check  shirts,  their  superabundant  jewelry; 
they  stood  in  uniform.  Severe,  infinitely  praktisch,  six 
foot,  each,  of  formidable  enemy. 

After  tea  there  was  a  general  movement. 

"  Coming  for  a  stroll  ?  "  Julian  stood  looking  down  at 
Nan. 

"  Yes,  but  it  is  cold  toward  sunset  in  this  Scotland  of 
yours.  I  must  have  my  jacket." 

"  Oh,  well,  where  is  it  ?  "  he  demanded,  with  a  touch  of 
his  absentminded  impatience. 

She  looked  at  him.  "  I  don't  know.  In  the  coat-room, 
perhaps.  You  '11  find  it  somewhere." 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  ? "  he  questioned  dubiously. 
"What's  it  like?" 

"  Well,  of  all  things ! "  She  sat  up  very  straight. 
"  You  mean  to  say  you  never  noticed  ?  It  is  n't  the  very 
least  like  anybody  else's." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  I  '11  remember  it  all  right  when  I  see 
it."  Julian  retired  meekly  to  the  coat-room. 

Nan  brought  her  eyes  down  from  the  florid,  gilt  molding 
above  the  window  to  the  level  of  Napier's  face. 

"  You  look  worried,"  she  announced. 

"  I  am  worried." 

"  Just  about  the  war  —  nothing  particular  ?  " 

Yes,  there  was  one  thing  in  particular.  "  One  thing 
I  can't  honestly  say  I'm  happy  about."  His  speech 
slowed  under  the  quick  shifting  of  light  and  shadow  in 
her  eyes.  What  did  she  think  he  had  been  going  to  say 
when  he  began  that  brought  that  darkening  as  he  ended, 
"  I  can't  honestly  say  I  am  happy  about  Julian." 

"  About  Julian  !  " 


THE  MESSENGER  89 

"  Yes.  He  tells  me  you  and  he  are  n't  engaged,  and  he 
does  n't  know  why." 

"  Is  that  all  you  've  got  to  worry  you  ?  " 

"  Does  n't  it  seem  to  you  enough  to  justify  any  friend 

» 

She  was  dumb. 

Napier  took  refuge  in  a  rapid  survey  of  Julian's  char 
acter  and  advantages. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  broke  in,  "  you  're  talking  to  me 
about  Mr.  Grant  as  if  you  were  recommending  a  chauffeur. 
He  belongs,  I  gather,  to  a  reputable  family;  he's  steady; 
he  was  a  long  time  in  his  last  place;  sober,  very,  very 
sober!  But  I  really  don't  need  any  testimonials  to  Mr. 
Grant's  character,"  she  wound  up  under  her  breath,  as 
that  young  man  emerged  gloomily  from  the  room  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hall. 

"  I  say,  there  are  millions  of  coats  here." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  I  '11  come." 

He  had  been  an  ass !  The  sole  gain,  as  Napier  saw  it, 
out  of  a  rather  ridiculous  encounter  was  to  establish  the 
fact  of  the  girl's  sensitiveness  for  Julian's  dignity. 

For  Sir  William,  the  Kirklamont  charm  worked  well. 
Again  the  next  morning  he  slept  late.  There  was  in  con 
sequence  rather  more  bustle  than  usual  attendant  on  his 
departure.  Nan  Ellis  had  rushed  over  early  to  say  good- 
by.  It  struck  Napier  that  she  was  both  grave  and  excited. 
She  joined  him  for  an  instant  at  the  table,  where  he  stood 
putting  some  papers  into  the  despatch  box. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  voice,  as 
though  continuing  a  conversation. 


90  THE  MESSENGER 

«To  —  " 

"  Yes,  to  marry  Julian."  Then,  quick  as  the  darting  of 
a  dragon-fly,  she  pounced  on  his  possible  answer.  "  1 
sha'n't  do  it  —  not  even  for  you.  But  if  that 's  what  you 
want,  I  'd  just  like  to  know."  She  waited.  Napier,  too, 
for  once  in  his  life  tongue-tied. 

"Well,  good-by  everybody.  Isn't  that  lazy  dog  Bobby 
down  yet  ?  "  Sir  William  demanded. 

"  He  's  where  he  always  is  these  days,"  answered  Madge ; 
"  gone  off  to  Glenfallon." 

"  Wrong ! "  Bobby  was  striding  into  the  hall  by  the  side 
door.  He  looked  rather  glum  for  Bobby. 

"  Find  your  friends  out  of  sorts  ? "  Sir  William  in 
quired,  with  his  shrewd  look.  "  Nasty  jar  for  Carl  and 
Ernst,  opening  their  newspapers  this  morning."  Sir  Wil 
liam  was  not  forgetting  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  private 
case  and  the  summer  mackintosh  on  their  way  into  the 
car.  "  Well,  what  do  they  think  about  the  war  now  ?  Eh, 
what?" 

"I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  know  what  they  think," 
his  son  answered. 

"  I  can't  think  why  you  say  that,  dear,"  his  mother  re 
monstrated.  "I  don't  find  them  .at  all  reserved.  They 
talk  with  perfect  freedom  to  me." 

"Well,  they  won't  any  more.  They're  gone,"  said 
Bobby. 

"  Gone  where  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  And,  what's  more,  the  caretaker 
does  n't  know." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  they  've  gone  for  good  ?  " 
Madge  sounded  a  sharp  regret. 


THE  MESSENGEK  91 

Bobby  nodded.     "  Glenfallon  's  shut  up." 

"  But  they  can't  be  gone  for  good.  Can  they  ?  "  Lady 
Mclntyre  turned  to  Miss  Greta. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  The  answer  came  a  trifle  too 
quickly. 

Sir  William  got  into  the  car.  Napier  followed  him. 
He  leaned  over  the  slammed  door.  "  When  do  you  say 

•/  »/ 

they  went  ?  "  he  asked  Bobby. 

"  Late  last  night.     Bag  and  baggage." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THOSE  were  the  days  when  all  thoughts  turned  to  the 
fleet.  The  expected  leave  of  Jim  Mclntyre,  and  of 
many  a  sailor  son,  had  been  cancelled.  Terrible  and  glori 
ous  things  were  happening  in  the  element  ruled  by 
Britannia.  Only  the  stern  discretion  of  the  Admiralty 
prevented  detailed  knowledge.  Maintenance  of  this  self- 
denying  ordinance  on  the  part  of  the  authorities  could  not 
prevent  the  rumors,  which  ran  about,  of  a  decisive  naval 
engagement.  Lady  Mclntyre,  lying  awake  at  night,  dis 
tinctly  heard  the  boom  of  guns  off  the  Dogger  Bank.  Her 
beloved  Jim  (God  keep  him!)  was  crumpling  up  the  Ger 
mans  in  the  North  Sea. 

It  was  something  to  have  Colin  home  from  Aldershot 
and  Neil  from  Shorncliffe.  The  fact  that  the  two  young 
soldiers  were  granted  leave  because  they  were  going  off  on 
active  service  was  hidden  from  their  mother. 

The  knowledge  brought  Sir  William  post-haste  from 
London.  His  proud  eyes  went  from  the  natty-looking 
Neil,  to  the  taller,  elder  soldier  with  the  ugly,  honest 
face.  The  father's  gaze  rested  longest  there.  "  If  you 
knew  the  trouble  I  had  —  I  sha'n't  try  it  again.  This 
place  is  too  far  away  at  such  a  time." 

Lady  Mclntyre  inquired  anxiously  for  admiralty  news. 

"  Well,  the  Turks  have  got  the  Breslau  and  the  Goeben." 
Sir  William  glanced  at  his  sons.  They  said  nothing. 

92 


THE  MESSENGER  93 

"  Oh,  that,"  said  his  wife.  "  I  mean  about  the  great 
North  Sea  engagements." 

"  The  movements  of  the  fleet  are  n't  published." 

"  Published !  Of  course  not,"  retorted  Lady  Mclntyre. 
"  But  that 's  no  reason  they  should  n't  tell  you." 

"  Well,  I  'm  afraid  they  have  n't." 

"  Nonsense !  It 's  just  because  you  've  grown  so  secre 
tive  all  of  a  sudden.  You  're  nearly  as  bad  as  Colin.  I 
do  wish  Jim  would  write !  "  A  rush  of  tears  blurred  the 
blueness  of  her  eyes.  Evidently  the  presence  of  the  other 
sons  only  emphasized  for  the  mother  the  absence  of  her 
sailor.  "  Surely,  William,  you  know  about  the  naval  battle. 
Why,  I  hear  the  guns  all  night  long !  " 

"  In  your  head,  my  dear,"  said  Sir  William,  gently. 

There  was  a  moment's  poignant  silence.  In  truth,  the 
reverberation  of  those  guns  of  rumor  shook  all  hearts. 

"  Well,  Neil,  go  on,"  —  Madge  returned  to  her  low  chair 
at  Miss  Greta's  other  side.  "You  were  telling  us  about 
the  new  army  regulations.  Go  on." 

Miss  Greta  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  Napier  with  that 
"  savior  of  my  life,"  expression  that  he  was  coming  to 
know.  He  made  an  ungrateful  return.  "  And  how  is 
your  '  little  friend  '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Nan  is  well,  thank  you." 

"  She  ought  to  be  back  by  now."  Lady  Mclntyre  was 
making  a  brave  effort  to  put  away  fears  for  her  sailor. 
"  Nan,"  she  explained  to  Napier,  "  very  kindly  agreed  to 
take  the  car  and  do  an  errand  or  two  which  Miss  Greta's 
slight  headache  — " 

The  thought  flashed  across  Napier's  mind  of  the  far 
worse  pang  it  would  have  cost  Miss  Greta  to  be  away  when 


94  THE  MESSENGEK 

official  news  was  arriving  hot  and  hot.  She  listened  now 
to  Sir  William's  reasons  why  Liege  could  hold  out  in 
definitely. 

Over  the  shrubberies  the  winged  hat  of  the  girl  mes 
senger  rose  against  the  landscape,  and  again,  hardly  had 
the  car  swerved  round  to  the  door,  before,  with  that  same 
blackbird-over-the-hedge  action,  she  was  out  of  the  car  and 
coming  into  the  hall.  "  Yes,  I  did  all  the  commissions, 
and  in  about  half  the  time  you  said.  Oh,  Sir  William!  " 
She  went  up  and  shook  hands.  "  You  see,  I  am  here  still." 
She  stood  childishly  in  front  of  him,  as  if  waiting  for  a 
further  extension  of  playtime. 

"  That 's  right,  and  you  look  as  if  it  agreed  with  you." 

"Oh,  it  does!"  She  gave  her  hand  to  Napier.  And 
then,  turning  with  one  of  her  quick  movements,  she  found 
a  singular  thing  to  say  to  a  captain  of  the  Black  Watch 
and  a  young  gentleman  who  held  a  commission  in  the 
Seaforths.  "  I  've  seen  soldiers,  Scotch  soldiers !  They 
did  look  funny !  " 

"Funny!"  said  Sir  William.  The  two  elder  sons 
turned  away  their  eyes.  Bobby  grinned  and  contorted  his 
legs.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  soldiers  wearing  aprons." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  kilts,"  said  Sir  William.  "Did 
you  never  see  — 

"  Oh>  yes,  of  course,  on  the  stage,  and  in  pictures.  But 
these  soldiers  had  on  the  funniest  little  brown  aprons  ore/ 
their  kilts." 

"Temporary  measure,"  said  Colin,  slowly.  "They'll 
soon  be  all  in  khaki." 

"  And  it  was  awfully  difficult  to  get  your  check  cached." 


95 

She  turned  toward  Lady  Mclntyre.  "  They  say  now 
there  is  n't  any  silver  left  in  Scotland.  And  in  your  town 
there  is  n't  even  copper.  I  hope  you  don't  mind ;  I  had  to 
take  stamps  in  change.  There,"  —  she  produced  a  roll  of 
postal-orders  —  "  are  what  we  '11  have  to  use  for  money 
now,  they  say." 

Lady  Mclntyre  protested,  but  Sir  William  indorsed  the 
news.  Like  the  khaki  aprons,  a  "  temporary  measure." 
Miss  Nan  made  her  accounting. 

"All  these  horrid  little  scraps  of  paper!"  Lady  Mc 
lntyre  complained. 

"  You  can  always  change  them  for  gold,"  Neil  said. 

"  If  you  do,  you  must  keep  it  circulating,"  warned  Sir 
William.  "  No  hoarding  of  gold !  " 

"  But  we  can't  get  any  more  —  that 's  just  the  trouble." 

"  You  ought  to  have  asked  Miss  Nan,"  said  Madge. 

"  But  I  did,  and  Nan  had  n't  any." 

"  Why,  I  saw  piles  of  gold  on  your  table  when  I  went 
up  to  the  inn  with  Miss  Greta's  note  yesterday !  " 

"  Yes;  I  'd  got  it  out  for  her  —  all  I  had." 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  was  leaning  against  the  back 
of  the  settle.  "  What  a  pity !  "  she  said  quietly.  "  I  wish 
I  'd  known  you  wanted  gold." 

"  But,  dear  Greta,  I  said  —  " 

"  Did  you  ?     I  could  n't  have  taken  it  in. 
now.     To  a  poor  person  in  desperate  straits  — 
American.     That  was  why  I  borrowed  it." 

"  Bor-c/i-rowed  it,"  she  said,  with  the  vanishing  "  ch  ?' 
like  a  ghost  of  the  final  sound  in  the  Scots  word  "  loch." 

Captain  Colin  was  looking  at  her  from  under  his  thick, 
whitey-yellow  eyebrows  —  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his 


96  THE  MESSENGER 

father  was  talking  to  him  very  earnestly  about  the  tactics 
of  the  German  Army.  Beyond  a  doubt,  consciousness  of 
Miss  Greta's  foreignness  was  growing  Her  slight  burring 
of  the  "  r  "  had  never  sounded  so  marked  as  it  did  to-day. 
For  all  her  long  residence  in  the  States,  Miss  Greta  was 
far  more  German  than  anybody  in  the  Kirklamont  circle 
had  quite  realized  until  the  war.  And  now  very  plainly 
this  "  Germanism  "  was  taking  its  place  as  a  bar  to  con 
versation,  a  something  still  not  productive  of  hostility  so 
much  as  of  gene. 

"  I  'd  be  so  grateful,  my  dear,"  Lady  Mclntyre  said  half 
aside  to  Nan,  "if  you'd  make  Greta  bathe  her  temples 
and  lie  down." 

"  Yes,  let  us  go.  All  this  —  Nan  looked  round  the 
hall  through  a  sudden  bewilderment  of  compunction  which 
fell  like  a  veil  over  her  brightness  —  "  all  this  is  dreadful 
for  you." 

"  For  me !  Oh,  no !  "  -  Miss  Greta  held  her  head  higher 
than  ever  —  "it's  not  dreadful  for  me."  She  smiled  a 
little  fiercely,  —  to  Napier's  sense — -as  she  left  the  hall, 
Madge  on  one  side  and  Nan  on  the  other. 

When  Sir  William  went  off  with  his  three  sons  for  a 
stroll,  Lady  Mclntyre  accompanied  them  as  far  as  the 
gate. 

She  brought  back  into  the  hall  a  face  more  agitated 
than  Napier  had  ever  seen  it.  Irresolute,  miserable,  she 
paused  on  her  way  to  the  sofa  where  Napier  sat,  trying  to 
read.  "  Colin,"  she  jerked  out  in  a  guarded  voice,  "  has 
the  strangest  notions !  "  The  pale  eyes  looked  round  more 
helpless  than  ever.  "He  says  Greta  tried  to  pump  him 
about  army  matters,  and  he  's  sorry  he  did  n't  warn  Neil ! 


THE  MESSENGER  97 

He  's  going  to.  Colin  said, —  oh,  in  the  unkindest  way ! 
'  That  woman  ought  to  go  home ! '  '  Home  ?  '  I  said, 
1  why,  this  is  Greta's  home ! '  '  No,  it  is  n't,'  he  said ; 
'  Germany 's  her  home,  and  she  ought  to  go  there ! '  Oh, 
Colin  can  be  very  hard  when  he  likes !  "  She  choked  back 
her  tears,  as  Miss  Ellis  came  running  down  the  stairs. 
"What  is  it?"  Lady  Mclntyre  started  to  her  feet.  "Is 
Greta  worse  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  It 's  only  Ju  —  Mr.  Grant  has  got  back. 
We  saw  him  coming  across  the  — 

He  stood  in  the  doorway.  Nan  went  forward,  hand  out, 
welcome  in  every  lineament,  a  kind  of  all-enfolding  affec 
tion  in  the  forward  inclination  of  the  whole,  lightly  poised 
figure.. 

Napier  looked  on  dully. 

Though  Julian  was  smiling  as  he  took  the  girl's  hand, 
she  said,  with  quick  intuition  of  his  mood,  "  What 's  hap 
pened?  "  And  after  he  'd  come  in  and  greeted  the  others, 
"  Are  n't  they  well,  your  father  and  mother  ? "  she  per 
sisted  gently.  "  They  have  n't  come  ?  I  am  sorry !  I 
knew  something  was  wrong."  She  folded  her  sympathy 
round  him  like  a  cloak. 

"  It  is  n't  their  not  coming."  He  dropped  into  a  chair. 
"  It 's  the  stuff  I  've  had  to  listen  to  in  town.  And  in 
the  railway  carriages  too.  The  colossal  tomfoolery  —  the 
—  the  indecent  way  people  were  jubilating  over  the  great 
est  disaster  in  history.  This  is  the  kind  of  fierce  test 
that  people  go  down  under.  They'd  be  ashamed  to  be 
unfair,  lying,  and  greedy  for  themselves.  They  think  it 's 
a  merit  to  be  unfair,  lying,  and  greedy  for  England." 

Lady  Mclntyre  cast  her  eye  up  the  staircase,   thither 


98 

her  thoughts  had  already  gone.  She  was  in  the  act  of 
getting  up,  when  Julian  broke  out  moodily,  "  And  the 
way  people  already  are  beginning  to  talk  and  behave  about 
the  Germans  in  England !  "  He  had  his  instances. 

Napier  pointed  out  that,  regrettable  as  these  manifesta 
tions  were,  they  were  fewer  and  of  a  much  milder  char 
acter  with  us  than  in  other  countries.  He  spoke  of  ill- 
treatment  in  Germany  and  Austria  of  retiring  ambassadors 
and  even  of  neutrals.  He  turned  to  Nan  Ellis.  "  Your 
countrymen  could  tell  you  a  tale  of  these  last  days 
that  would  make  you  open  your  eyes.  Ask  your  am 
bassador." 

"  If  the  Germans  really  did,"  Julian  began ;  but  Napier 
picked  him  up  smartly,  "  You  forget,  we  know." 

"  Well,  well,  it 's  one  proof  the  more,  if  we  needed  the 
more,  that  war  brutalizes  noncombatants  as  well  as  com 
batants." 

Lady  Mclntyre  shook  her  ear-rings  desparingly.  "  Aro 
matic  vinegar,"  she  murmured,  as  she  went  upstairs. 

While  Julian  exposed  diplomacy  and  denounced  gov 
ernments,  Nan  sat,  chin  in  hand,  drinking  it  in,  as  if  she 
recognized  in  these  doctrines  that  true  faith  for  which 
all  her  life  she  had  been  thirsting.  Under  the  subtle 
flattery,  Julian,  in  spite  of  weariness,  waxed  yet  more 
eloquent.  Napier  pulled  out  his  watch  and  made  a  low 
exclamation,  intended  to  indicate  some  pressing  business 
overdue.  He  went  up  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time.  And 
yet  the  pace  was  n't  quick  enough  to  please  him.  Away, 
he  must  get  away.  Julian  had  been  pitying  Colin  and 
Neil,  "  pawns  in  the  great  game."  Napier  knew  now  that 
he  envl:d  them.  Oh,  that  he  too  might  go  and  fight!  He 


THE  MESSENGER  99 

walked  to  and  fro  in  his  room  in  the  first  access  of  that 
fever  that  was  to  beset  him  sore  until  he  should  be  standing 
in  the  trenches  of  the  Somme.  With  Julian's  denunciation 
of  war  nagging  at  his  ears,  Napier  hailed  war  as  the  Great 
Simplification.  Not  only  of  international  troubles,  but  of 
private  ones.  Instead  of  ten  thousand  struggles,  one. 

Well,  at  all  events,  he  could  n't,  as  he  now  realized  (and 
happily,  by  reason  of  the  great  crisis,  he  was  n't  going  to 
be  asked  to)  stay  here  in  Scotland  and  look  on  at  this  love- 
making  !  War  had  its  uses,  even  to  the  civilian. 

An  hour  later  he  was  still  sitting  there,  back  to  the 
window,  smoking  innumerable  cigarettes  and  trying  to 
read  his  novel.  A  light,  rattling  sound  made  him  turn 
round.  A  fine  hail  on  the  window-panes  this  cloudless 
August  evening.  He  looked  out. 

Julian  was  down  below  with  a  handful  of  coarse  sand. 
A  sign :  Come  down. 

What  now? 

The  hall  was  empty,  except  of  the  footmen  beginning  to 
lay  tea.  Outside  Julian  waited. 

"  You  're  off  to  London  to-morrow,  too,"  he  began.  "  Is 
that  the  idea?" 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  idea." 

"  Well,  then  there 's  precious  little  time."  He  was 
threading  a  way  through  the  shrubberies  to  a  half-con 
cealed  garden  bench. 

"  I  've  been  wanting  your  advice,  Gavan.  The  fact  is," 
—  he  smiled  as  he  made  the  confession  —  "I  don't  know 
quite  where  I  am." 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  must  be  in  a  happier  place 


100  THE  MESSENGER 

than  most  mortals."  Napier  sat  down  on  a  half-concealed 
wooden  seat. 

Julian  joined  him  with  an  eager,  "  What  makes  you  say 
that?" 

"  Well,  it  must  be  plain  to  the  blindest  she  is  very  fond 
of  you." 

"You  think  she  is?"  He  sat  wondering.  Then  he 
presented  the  grievance  closest  to  hand.  "  She  would  n't 
let  me  kiss  her  just  now,  and  I  've  been  away  three  whole 
days." 

"  She  has  let  you  before  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  As  if  she  was  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

"  She  must  be,  or  else  she  would  n't,  would  she,  now  ? 
A  girl  like  that?" 

Napier  tried  to  ask  if  these  scenes  were  of  frequent  oc 
currence,  whether  they  were  courted  or  evaded.  The  ques 
tion,  stuck  in  his  throat.  And  then,  exactly  as  if  he  had 
spoken,  Julian  answered. 

"  She 's  a  little  capricious  about  that  kind  of  thing. 
But,"  —  he  turned  trustfully  to  his  friend — •"  girls  often 
are,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

Napier  sat  there  without  speaking.  "  I  wondered," 
Julian  went  on,  "  if  it  could  possibly  mean  the  sort  of  dis 
approval  that 's  putting  me  into  other  people's  black  books 
—  about  this  devil's  mess  of  a  war.  But  you  saw  she  took 
quite  a  rational  view  about  that." 

"  I  saw  she  took  your  view.     As  to  its  being  rational  — 

"  Oh,  well,  we  won't  say  any  more  about  that  now. 
I  've  talked  war  till  I  'm  sick.  I  thought  I  was  coming 
back  here  to  —  something  I  don't  find." 


THE  MESSENGEK  101 

Into  Napier's  silence  Julian  dropped  the  suggestion. 
"  It  may  only  be  that  I  don't  understand  women."  In 
his  quandary  Napier  wondered  aloud  whether  you 
ever  did  understand  a  person  brought  up  in  a  different 
country. 

"  Or  in  your  own,"  Julian  said  moodily.  "  People  I  've 
known  since  I  was  a  baby  I  begin  to  realize  I  've  never 
known  at  all !  " 

"  Oh,  come,  it  is  n't  as  bad  as  that,  though  we  're  all  of 
us  having  our  eyes  opened  these  days.  Those  Pforzheims 
now ;  I  'm  persuaded  they  got  hold  of  the  Kirklamont 
newspapers  and  kept  them  back  with  the  express  idea  of 
giving  Greta  an  excuse  for  getting  the  official  news  they 
wanted." 

Julian  stared,  and  then  he  turned  his  head  wearily 
away.  "  What  rot !  " 

The  tone  nettled  Napier.  "  You  seem  to  have  forgotten 
your  own  suspicions  of  that  woman." 

"  They  were  never  of  that  sort,  thank  God !  "  Julian 
flung  out.  "  I  did  n't  like  the  idea  of  Nan's  friend  carry 
ing  on  a  doubtful  love  affair  —  But  that 's  all  pettiness. 
The  awful  actualities  of  war  have  brought  fine  things  to 
the  surface  in  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg's  character." 

Napier  told  himself  that  he  knew  what  had  been  brought 
to  the  surface,  and  what  effect  that  bringing  had  had  on 
Julian. 

The  spectacle  of  injustice,  or  even  the  danger  of  in 
justice,  would  at  any  time  make  Julian  Grant  forget  his 
own  interests  and  yours  and  anybody's  who  was  n't  being 
actively  oppressed. 

"  Have  you  been  to  Gull  Island  since  ?  " 


102  THE  MESSENGER 

"  I  've  had  no  time  for  picnicking,"  Julian  answered 
shortly. 

"  Well,  since  you  're  championing  Schwarzenberg,  it 's 
your  business  to  see  she  is  n't  made  a  tool  of.  You  heard 
how  the  Pforzheims  vanished.  I  've  wondered,"  -  -  Napier 
found  it  curiously  difficult  to  go  on.  There  was  a  quality 
—  he  had  noticed  it  before  —  a  something  in  Julian's 
frankness  which  put  astuteness  out  of  countenance,  some 
thing  that  made  suspicion  seem  not  only  vulgar  but  melo 
dramatic.  Napier  felt  obliged  to  throw  a  dash  of  whim 
sicality,  of  confessed  extravagance,  into  the  speculation, 
"  Whether  the  reason  we  were  n't  allowed  to  land  on  Gull 
Island  was  those  Pforzheims.  They  may  have  made  an 
emergency  camp  out  of  your  Smugglers'  Cave." 

Julian's  weary  disgust  lightened  a  little.  "  I  had  no 
notion  you  were  so  romantic,  Gavan." 

"  Very  well,  then.  If  you  won't  look  into  the  matter,  I 
must  get  some  one  else.  And  set  afoot  a  new  crop  of 
rumors.  Eisk  involving  Sir  William  in  responsibility 
for  —  " 

"  Oh,  see  here !  I  '11  go,  and  hold  an  inquisition  on  the 
gulls  and  cormorants." 

Napier  thanked  him  a  little  sheepishly.  "  Of  course  I 
don't  expect  you  to  find  anything.  I  only  feel  we  've  got 
to  make  sure." 


CHAPTEK  VIII 

SIR  WILLIAM  and  Napier  returned  to  London  to  face 
those  days  of  intolerable  suspense,  when  men  carried 
about  like  a  waking  nightmare  the  new  proof  that  an  im 
pregnable  fortress  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  de 
fenses  of  Liege  had  failed.  A  vast  system  of  forts  had 
been  pounded  into  ruin.  Through  breach  after  breach, 
the  German  hosts  were  pouring.  People  far  away  from 
the  scenes  of  carnage  and  chaos  woke  in  the  night  under  a 
clutch  of  dread.  What  is  it?  What's  .the  matter  with 
life?  The  Germans!  On  and  on  they  were  coming,  and 
nothing,  it  seemed,  could  stop  them. 

i 

Then  came  the  Mons  retreat  and  the  Battle  of  the 
Marne.  Belgium  was  in  ruins,  but  the  German  flood  had 
been  stayed.  Sir  William,  worn  and  aged  after  a  second 
heart  attack,  carefully  concealed  from  every  one  except  the 
doctor,  and  Gavan  came  down  from  London  to  spend  Sat 
urday  night  and  Sunday  at  the  place  he  had  taken  on  the 
Essex  coast.  Apart  from  public  anxieties,  Sir  William 
had  been  subject  to  the  annoyance  of  questions  in  the 
House,  about  his  chauffeur  —  a  member  of  his  Majesty's 
Government  could  n't  be  driven  about  by  an  unnaturalized 
German.  A  new  chauffeur  had  brought  Sir  William  from 
town. 

"  Do  say  you  are  going  to  like  the  house,  William,  dear !  " 

103 


104  THE  MESSENGER 

his  wife  implored  on  the  familiar  note,  before  he  had  time 
to  see  anything  beyond,  the  entrance  and  the  drawing- 
room.  "Bemember  how  little  time  we  had  to  find  any 
thing  near  enough  for  you.  But  talk  about  it 's  being  a 
furnished  house !  " 

"Great  luck  to  find  such  a  place,"  Napier  reassured 
her.  "  How  did  you  hear  of  it  ?  " 

Lady  Mclntyre  shook  her  head,  as  with  an  effort  to 
shake  some  clear  recollection  out  of  the  inner  disorder. 
"  We  heard  of  so  many !  But  this  —  I  think  Greta  saw  an 
advertisement  somewhere  about  this  one.  I  had  to  come 
and  do  the  inspecting  because  of  that  silliness  about  getting 
a  permit  for  Greta." 

"  Seems  all  right,"  said  Sir  William,  rattling  his  seals 
as  he  joined  Napier  in  the  bay-window. 

"  Well,  you  would  n't  have  said  that  if  you  'd  seen  it  as 
those  people  left  it.  When  I  went  back  to  Kirklamont,  I 
told  Greta,  the  hideous  bareness  —  oh,  it  would  never  do ! 
But  she  simply  insisted  on  my  going  to  bed."  Lady  Mc 
lntyre  smiled  at  confession  of  that  helplessness  which  for 
long  years  had,  after  her  beauty,  been  her  strongest  card. 
"  Greta  said  everything  would  be  all  right.  You  had 
arranged  about  the  silly  permit,  and  the  very  next  day  she 
came  down,  all  by  herself,  and  just  took  hold." 

Sir  William  glanced  at  Napier,  as  he  asked  his  wife 
where  Miss  Greta  was  now. 

"  She  's  closing  up  Kirklamont.  That  is,  she  has  closed 
it  up.  They  're  coming  at  five  forty-five,  Greta  and  the 
children  and  Miss  Ellis.  I  've  come  to  like  that  Ellis  girl. 
And  I  believe  Madge  has,  too,  though  she  won't  say  so." 

Sir  William  had  been  walking  about,  opening  doors, 


THE  MESSENGEK  105 

looking  out  of  windows.  "  Seems  the  very  thing.  Capital 
view,  too !  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear." 

She  beamed,  "  Don't  congratulate  me.     It 's  Greta." 

"  Even  the  chairs  are  just  right !  "  Sir  William  sank 
down  in  one  by  the  open  French  window. 

Lady  Mclntyre  laughed,  delighted.  "  It 's  your  own 
chair !  out  of  the  library  at  Kirklamont." 

"  Never !  "  said  Sir  William,  staring  down  at  the  arms, 
first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other. 

"  Greta  said  you  'd  be  glad  of  your  own  special  chair 
when  you  came  home  tired !  " 

"  Well,  she 's  right."  He  abandoned  himself  a  moment 
to  the  embrace  of  his  old  friend. 

"  I  knew  you  'd  be  surprised ! "  Lady  Mclntyre  pat 
tered  on.  "  I  was.  I  should  have  thought  of  chairs  and 
things  myself,  if  it  had  n't  been  called  *  a  furnished  house.' 
And  charged  for  as  a  furnished  house !  But  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  furnishing  a  furnished  —  And 
even  if  I  had,  I  should  have  been  appalled  at  the  idea  of 
packing  up  heavy  furniture  and  moving  it  about  this  way. 
Linen  and  silver,  of  course,  and  a  few  vases,  and  my  china 
cats,  just  to  give  a  feeling  of  home,  but  a  thing  like  a 
great  hulking  armchair  with  a  reading  desk  —  /  " 

"  Yes,"  Sir  William  indulged  her,  "  I  should  as  soon 
have  thought  of  hoicking  up  my  bed." 

"  Your  bed  has  been  hoicked  up,"  she  triumphed. 
"  Greta  did  n't  forget  you  were  very  particular  about  your 
bed." 

"  You  don't  say  so." 

"  Oh,  yes.  You  said  once  the  reason  you  'd  never  been 
back  to  Germany  was  because  of  the  beds.  I  was  afraid 


106  THE  MESSENGER 

at  the  time  she  'd  feel  that.  But  you  see  how  beautifully 
she  's  taken  it.  And  what  about  the  war,  William  ?  "  she 
said,  in  exactly  the  same  tone. 

Sir  William  was  feeling  absently  for  his  cigar-case. 
"Are  they  still  slaughtering  those  poor  Belgians? 
Matches  ?  I  'm  sure  there  must  be  matches  somewhere." 
She  got  up  and  looked  vaguely  about  the  big  room,  as 
though  she  expected  the  matches  to  come  running  like  a 
dog  that  hears  its  name  called.  "  Anybody  but  Greta 
might  forget  a  little  thing  like  that.  There !  I  told  you 
so ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  Napier  produced  a  box  from  the 
far  side  of  the  clock.  "  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Napier  ? 
Will  it  be  over  by  Christmas?  Greta  is  sure  it  will." 

"H'm!  H'm!  About  Miss  Greta,"— Sir  William 
struck  in  with  that  same  exchange  of  glances  the  name  had 
called  forth  at  the  beginning.  "  Gavan  and  I  met  the  in 
spector  of  police  as  we  came  through  the  station.  New 
broom.  In  a  great  taking.  He  'd  been  hauled  over  the 
coals,  it  seems,  by  an  old  retired  colonel  hereabouts  —  fella 
called  McManus.  Has  a  place  a  little  way  down  the  coast. 
These  retired  men  are  the  devil.  They  don't  know  they  're 
retired.  This  fella  McManus  got  wind  of  a  German  lady 
who  was  here  for  a  week  and  who,  he  said,  went  about 
poking  her  nose  everywhere." 

"  She  had  to  poke  her -nose  to  get  housemaids  and  an  odd 
man.  But  McManus !  He  must  be  an  old  horror." 

"  Well,  that 's  what  he  said,  '  Poking  her  nose  every 
where,'  when  he  lodged  his  complaint  with  the  inspector. 
Very  decent  fella,  the  inspector." 

"  Lodged  a  complaint ! "  Lady  Mclntyre  echoed. 
"  Against  a  member  of  our  household." 


THE  MESSENGER  107 

"  Yes,  yes.  It 's  all  right.  I  told  the  inspector  we 
knew  all  about  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  and  could  abso 
lutely  vouch  for  her." 

"  Here  she  is,"  said  Napier  from  the  window. 

In  another  minute  Madge  and  Bobby  were  bursting  in, 
followed  by  the  other  two.  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg, 
wearing  a  new  look  of  subdued  triumph.  The  American, 
eager,  stirred,  smiling  in  Napier's  direction,  and  yet  far 
from  seeming  as  happy  as  the  girl  adored  by  Julian  should 
be. 

Madge  and  Bobby  filled  the  room  with  their  accounts  of 
the  queer  journey,  the  long  stoppages,  the  waiting  for  gov 
ernment  trains  to  pass,  and  the  way  the  troops  seemed  to 
be  moving  about  the  country. 

"  Miss  Greta  thought  it  was  n't  soldiers,"  Bobby  threw 
in.  "  She  says,  coal  for  the  fleet." 

"  That  was  only  at  first,"  Madge  defended  Miss  Greta, 
"  before  we  found  out  that  we  were  held  up  for  another  — 
a  perfectly  thrilling  reason !  But  it 's  a  dead  secret,  is  n't 
it,  Miss  Greta  ?  " 

"  The  deadest  kind,"  she  answered,  as  she  bent  her  head 
for  Nan  to  unpin  her  veil. 

"Russians!"  said  Madge  in  a  loud  stage  whisper. 
"  They  're  sending  armies  of  'em." 

"  Russians  ? "  Lady  Mclntyre  blinked  rapidly  and 
looked  at  the  door  in  a  perturbed  way. 

"  Yes,  to  fight  the  —  "  Bobby  turned  tactfully  to  his 
father.  "  I  '11  be  bound  you  know  all  about  it." 

"  Not  a  syllable." 

Madge  laughed.  "  Dear  old  Daddy !  "  she  said  patron 
izingly.  "  Well,  we  know,  so  you  need  n't  keep  it  up. 


108  THE  MESSENGER 

And  it's  an  awfully  good  dodge.  Think  of  the  surprise 
it. '11  be." 

"It  would  be  a  surprise,  right  enough,"  her  father  ad 
mitted. 

"You  see,"  Bobby  continued,  to  enlighten  his  mama, 
"  the  North  Sea  's  full  of  mines,  so  they  've  shipped  the 
Russian  troops  from  Archangel,  landed  'em  in  Scotland, 
and  they  're  rushing  'em  through  England  to  the  front." 

Whether  Sir  William  had  any  knowledge  of  this  spirited 
proceeding  or  not,  Bobby  had  plenty.  He  'd  collected  im 
pressions  on  the  journey. 

Sir  William  was  occupied  in  paying  facetious  tribute  to 
Miss  Greta  for  her  manipulation  of  beds  and  arm-chairs. 
"  Eh  ?  what  ?  "  he  interrupted  himself  to  say  to  a  footman 
whom  he  discovered  unexpectedly  behind  the  barrier  of 
the  reading-desk.  "  Did  n't  you  hear  ?  Tea  for  these 
ladies." 

"  Beg  pardon,  Sir  William,  but  there  's  an  inspector  of 
police  — 

"  Inspector !     What 's  he  want  now  ?  " 

"  He  —  a  —  well,  sir,  he  'd  like  to  speak  to  you  for  a 
moment,  sir." 

Sir  WTilliam  rose  rather  testily  and  went  out.  He  took 
the  precaution  to  turn  back  and  shut  the  door,  after  the 
footman  had  followed  him  across  the  threshold. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Greta  brightly  to  Madge,  "I  am 
wondering  whether  you  will  like  your  room.  You  '11  find 
it  next  mine.  You  remember  the  plan  I  drew  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  '11  go  up  after  tea.     Simply  ravenous !  " 

Miss  Greta  bent  toward  the  girl.  "  We  are  n't  fit  to  sit 
down  to  tea." 


THE  MESSENGER  109 

Wildfire  turned  to  protest.  She  seemed  to  read  in  the 
soft  face  a  resolution  no  stranger  would  have  detected 
either  there,  or  in  the  words,  "  I'm  going  up  too,  in  a 
minute.  I  '11  come  for  you."  Madge  went  quietly  out. 

Through  the  open  window  only  the  voices  from  the  next 
room  were  audible,  not  the  words.  Lady  Mclntyre  was  all 
too  aware  of  them. 

Miss  Greta  joined  Napier  at  the  window.  "  Pretty  view, 
don't  you  think  ?  "  She,  too,  listened  to  those  accents  in 
the  next  room. 

As  the  door  opened,  her  eyelids  fluttered,  but  she  never 
looked  round.  The  footman  was  back  again  with  an  ex 
cuse  instead  of  tea. 

"  It 's  the  range,  m'lady.  It  seems," —  hurriedly  he  ap 
peared  to  apologize  for  a  stove  suspected  of  an  untimely 
desire  for  taking  a  stroll  —  "  it  seems  to  'ave  gone  hout. 
But  the  tea  won't  be  long.  And  Sir  William  says  will 
Miss  von  Sworsenburg  kindly  step  into  the  next  room." 


CHAPTER  IX 

MISS  VON  "  SWORSENBURG  "  had  obliged  with 
a  cloudless  face.  It  was  Lady  Mclntyre  who 
looked  disturbed,  even  guilty.  She  took  refuge  in  a  work- 
bag,  which  she  unhooked  from  the  back  of  her  chair.  She 
jerked  it  open  hurriedly  on  her  knees  and  bent  her  head  to 
rummage  in  the  depths.  Conversation  between  Napier 
and  Nan  languished.  Both  were  listening  to  those  voices 
in  the  next  room. 

The  door  opened  abruptly  and  in  bustled  Sir  William, 
ruffling  up  the  little  hair  he  had  left  and  looking  the  very 
picture  of  discomfort. 

"  Perfect  dolt,  that  fella ! "  he  threw  over  his  shoulder 
to  Miss  Greta. 

She  followed  Sir  William  with  an  air  of  calmness,  not 
to  say  detachment,  that  even  she,  past  mistress  in  the  art 
of  conveying  the  finer  shades  of  superiority,  had  never  ex 
celled.  "  I  left  my  gloves,  I  think,"  she  said. 

Sir  William  had  gone  to  the  bell  and  rung  twice. 
"  That  fella  says  she  ought  to  go  and  register.  Makes 
out  he  '11  get  into  trouble  if  she  does  n't  go  at  once." 

"  Register,  William  ?  What  nonsense !  Why  on  earth 
should  she?" 

"Why?  Oh,  the  permit  was  informal,  and  only  for  a 
given  time.  Silly  idiots  !  " 

110 


THE  MESSENGER  111 

"  Well,  well,"  his  wife  soothed  him,  "  tell  the  creatures, 
if  they  're  in  such  a  ridiculous  hurry  —  she  '11  motor  over 
to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  won't  do.  He  's  had  orders.  It 's  got  to 
be  to-night."  Sir  William  spoke  in  his  most  testy  tone. 

Nan  had  sprung  up  and  gone  to  her  friend.  Napier, 
too,  had  come  forward.  He  picked  up  the  missing  gloves. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Greta,  with  her  smile.  But 
it  was  the  look  on  Nan's  face  that  struck  Napier  —  a  look 
that  haunted  him  afterwards.  If  it  had  n't  been  absurd, 
he  would  have  thought  she  was  thanking  him  with  all  her 
soul;  was  giving  him  something.  Something  of  unbe 
lievable  sweetness,  "  just  because  I  stooped  to  pick  up  that 
woman's  gloves ! " 

It  was  all  in  a  flash.  The  next  moment  Nan  stood 
buttoning  up  the  coat  she  had  so  lately  unbuttoned,  and 
saying,  "  If  you  really  must,  I  'm  coming  too !  "  —  her 
eyes  angry,  her  face  ashamed.  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg 
made  no  answer.  Lady  Mclntyre  was  jerking  out  a  suc 
cession  of  nervous  questions  which  nobody  took  the  trouble 
to  notice. 

"  What  we  're  coming  to,  I  don't  know."  Sir  William 
fumed  and  strutted  up  and  down. 

"Yes,  Sir  William."     The  servant  stood  there. 

"Where's  the  tea? "  Lady  Mclntyre  in  a  sinking  ship 
would  have  cried,  "  Where 's  the  lifeboat  ?  "  with  much  the 
same  accent  and  look  of  desperation. 

"  It 's  coming,  m'lady.     It 's  on  the  way  up." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  five  minutes  ago  " — •  the  footman 
was  catching  it  on  the  other  side  now  — "  you  were  to 
telephone  for  the  car  ?  " 


112  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Yes,  Sir  William.  It 's  coming  round  now,  Sir  Wil 
liam." 

"  Come,  then,"  Miss  Greta  said,  as  though  Nan  were  the 
person  desired  by  the  police.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  must  carry 
you  off." 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  "  Lady  Mclntyre  rose  with  precipita 
tion.  Her  work-bag  rolled  to  the  ground,  but  she  did  n't 
notice.  Her  blue  eyes  were  on  Greta's  face  a  second,  and 
then  turned  beseechingly  on  her  husband. 

"  William !  "  She  hurried  over  to  him.  "  Surely,  Wil 
liam,  you  — 

"  Mere  red-tape  —  mere  red-tape,  my  dear,"  he  said  to 
his  wife.  "  Though,  if  Lord  Dacre  was  n't  coming  over 
at  half -past  six  on  official  business  —  I  'd  go  with  you,"  he 
said  handsomely  to  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg.  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg  murmured  politely  in  her  veil  that  she 
wouldn't  on  any  account  have  Sir  William  take  so  much 
trouble. 

Lady  Mclntyre  had  jerked  her  head  at  Napier.  But 
Napier  seemed  not  to  know  his  part  in  this  scene.  He 
stood  silent,  looking  at  the  indignant  face  of  Miss  Greta's 
"  little  friend." 

"  It 's  too  dreadful  to  let  you  go  without  one  of  us ! " 
Lady  Mclntyre  wailed.  "Shall  I  come,  Greta  dear?" 
And  then,  a  good  deal  unstrung  at  the  possibility  of  having 
her  offer  accepted :  "  N-not  that  I  'd  be  much  good,  I  'm 
afraid.  I  was  never  in  a  police  station  in  my  life." 

"  I  don't  imagine,"  said  Miss  Greta,  with  her  fine  mix 
ture  of  tolerance  and  delicate  contempt,  "that  any  of  us 
have  been  much  in  police  stations." 

Recollections  of  Lord  Dacre  had  not  brought  entire  re- 


THE  MESSENGER  113 

pose  to  Sir  William.  He  twisted  round  in  the  comfortable 
chair : 

"  What  do  you  say,  Gavan  ?  You  won't  mind  represent 
ing  me  in  this  little  — "  he  paused  as  the  butler  passed 
between  them  with  a  tray.  A  footman  at  his  heels  an 
nounced  the  car. 

"  Oh,  she  can't  go  without  tea ! "  Lady  Mclntyre  cried. 
Then  with  extreme  felicity  she  added,  "Why,  before  they 
hang  people  they  give  them  tea !  "  Nan  bit  her  lip. 

The  incomparable  Greta  smiled.  "  It  does  n't  the  least 
matter  about  tea,  dear  Lady  Mclntyre.  And  I  'd  rather 
get  to  Newton  Hackett  before  the  po —  the  place  shuts." 
The  fraction  of  an  instant  her  eyes  rested  on  the  servants, 
and  then,  as  she  went  toward  the  door,  "  So  good  of  you,  so 
Tcind  to  let  me  have  the  motor !  " 

Miss  Greta  contrived,  with  economy  of  means  beyond 
all  praise,  to  give  the  expedition  an  air  of  being  devised 
for  her  special  convenience. 

Sir  William  was  plainly  ruffled  at  Napier's  obvious  re 
luctance  to  accompany  Miss  Greta  to  Newton  Hackett. 
Sir  William  was  sorry  it  was  such  a  bore.  ...  If  Colin 
or  Neil  had  been  at  home,  he  would  n't  have  had  to  ask 
anything  so  admittedly  outside  the  range  of  a  private  sec 
retary's  functions.  Presented  like  that,  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  that  Napier  should,  in  Sir  William's  phrase, 
represent  him  in  this  little  matter. 

As  the  three  were  getting  into  the  car,  Madge  leaned  out 
of  an  upper  window.  "Well,  I  do  think;  sending  me  up 
here  to  wait  for  you !  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Newton  Hackett,  dearest.  Back  soon."  Miss  Greta 
waved  her  handkerchief. 


114  THE  MESSENGEB 

In  a  long  bare  room,  a  figure  in  uniform  confronted 
them,  on  the  other  side  of  a  table  like  a  counter. 

"  Are  you  Inspector  Adler  ?  "  Napier  began. 

Yes,  the  big  fair  man  with  a  high  color  and  heavy  jowl 
was  Inspector  Adler. 

"  You  were  telephoned  to,  I  believe  ?  " 

Yes,  Inspector  Smith  had  telephoned  from  Lamborough. 

"  Then  you  know  all  about  this  lady's  errand."  Napier 
stood  aside  for  Miss  Greta. 

The  interrogation  went  forward. 

"  Your  surname  is  Sworsenberg  ?  " 

"  No ;  von  Schwarzenberg." 

He  seemed  not  greatly  to  like  having  his  pronunciation 
corrected. 

"Will  you  spell  it?" 

She  spelt  it. 

"  Your  Christian  name  ?  " 

"  Johanna  Marguerite." 

"  Please  spell  them." 

She  obliged. 

"  Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"  At  Ehrenheim." 

"Will  you  spell  it?"  And  when  she  had  done  so,  he 
looked  at  the  word  with  suspicion.  "  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  In  Hanover." 

"  In  Germany,  you  mean." 

"  In  Hanover,  Germany." 

"In  Germany."  He  put  down  the  word  about  which 
already  such  a  host  of  new  connotations  had  begun  to 
cling. 

Nan  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  register  to  the  man's  face. 


THE  MESSENGER  115 

He  was  taking  this  business  too  seriously,  with  his  "  Ger 
many,  you  mean,"  as  if  Greta  had  tried  to  pretend  that 
Hanover  was  somewhere  else. 

"  I  'm  not  English,  either,"  said  Miss  Ellis  in  an  ex 
planatory  tone. 

"  No  ?  "  The  Inspector  fixed  her  with  his  serious,  blue 
eyes.  "  What  are  you  ?  " 

"  American." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  and  lost  interest. 

"  Now,  Miss  —  a  —  Sworsenburger,  what  is  the  date  of 
your  birth  ?  " 

If  Miss  Greta  hesitated  a  second,  it  seemed  to  be  from  a 
natural  disgust  at  hearing  her  name  murdered. 

"  Born  1886  —  and  the  name  is  von  Schwarzenberg." 
She  must  have  been  aware  of  the  touch  of  hauteur  in  the 
tone  of  her  correction,  for  instantly  she  changed  it. 
"  You,  too," —  she  smiled  at  the  burly  inspector  — "  you 
have  a  German  name." 

"Me?" 

"  Adler  is  one  of  the  most  com  —  usual  names  in  Ger 
many." 

"  My  name  's  not  A  Adler.     It 's  Adler." 

"  That 's  only  a  corruption,"  she  said,  less  cautiously 
than  was  her  wont. 

"  No  corruption  about  it,"  he  spoke  roughly. 

"  She  only  means  —  "  Napier  began. 

"  Never  'eard  in  me  life  of  a  corrupt  Adler.  What 's 
your  business  over  'ere  ?  " 

"  This  lady,"  Napier  intervened,  "  came  into  the  family 
of  Sir  William  and  Lady  Mclntyre  as  a  governess." 

"  She  has  become  a  valued  personal  friend,"  Miss  Ellis 


116  THE  MESSENGEK 

put  in  stiffly.  "  Have  n't  you  heard  that  by  telephone  ? 
You  have  only  to  ring  up  Sir  William  himself  - 

"  We  are  not  supposed  to  take  our  information  hy  tele 
phone.  How  long  do  you  want  to  stay  in  this  country  ?  " 

"  She  lives  here,  as  I  've  told  you,"  said  Napier,  "  in  the 
family  of  — 

The  interrogatory  went  on,  Nan  more  and  more  furious, 
appealing  silently  to  Napier  from  time  to  time;  Miss 
Greta  taking  it  all  with  a  dignity  that  made  even  Napier 
feel  that  he  had  never  yet  seen  her  to  such  advantage.  The 
inspector,  too,  must  in  his  way  have  felt  that  this  foreigner 
who  had  accused  him  of  being  a  German  (him,  James 
Adler,  for  the  love  of  God ! )  and  had  accused  the  Adlers  of 
being  corrupted,  was  somehow  getting  the  best  of  the  in 
terview.  He  was  already  accustomed  (and  the  war  was 
as  yet  counted  by  weeks)  to  seeing  the  few  Germans  who 
had  presented  themselves  to  be  registered  adopt  an  attitude 
either  humorous  (accompanied  by  offers  of  cigars),  or 
uneasy,  or  tending  toward  the  apologetic.  Napier  was 
sure  that  Adler  lorded  it  a  little  even  over  people  who 
knew  how  to  treat  an  inspector  proper. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  stay  here  at  all  now  they  've 
made  this  into  a  proscribed  area,"  he  said  with  a  touch  of 
pride  at  being  inspector  of  a  place  so  distinguished. 

"  Oh,  so  they  have !  "  Miss  Greta  smiled.  "  I  ought  to 
have  remembered,  when  Sir  William  took  the  trouble  to 
see  about  a  special  permit."  She  opened  a  bag  and  took 
out  a  paper. 

Inspector  Adler  looked  at  it  with  suspicion.  Just  this 
kind  of  case  evidently  had  n't  come  his  way  before. 

"Maybe  it's  regular,"  he  said  cautiously  as  he  handed 


THE  MESSENGER  117 

the  paper  back.  "Better  take  care  of  it.  You'll  need 
it  if  you  do  stay  and  ever  want  permission  to  go  outside  the 
five-mile  radius." 

Miss  Greta  maintained  a  lofty  silence. 

"  How  does  she  get  such  a  further  permission  ?  "  said 
Napier. 

"  By  applying  to  the  proper  authority,"  said  Mr.  Adler ; 
"  in  this  case  to  me."  The  inspector  was  dabbing  some 
purple  ink  on  a  pad.  "  Now  your  finger-print,  if  you 
please." 

Miss  Greta  drew  back,  scarlet.  "  A  German  is  what  I 
am,  not  a  criminal." 

"  'Ere 's  where  you  go."  He  pointed  downwards  with  a 
large,  blunt  thumb. 

Napier  in  his  embarrassment  looked  away  from  Miss 
Greta.  His  glance  fell  upon  Nan.  The  girl's  eyes  had 
filled.  "  It 's  an  outrage,"  she  said  in  a  choked  voice. 
""  That  kind  of  identification  is  meant  for  rogues  and 
murderers." 

But  Miss  Greta  had  recovered  herself.  "  And  that  sort 
of  person/'  she  said,  "  of  course  must  object  very  much. 
But,  after  all,  why  should  —  people  like  us  ?  " 

Nan  pressed  close  to  Greta's  side.  "  Yes,  you  must 
fingerprint  me,  too !  "  she  said  between  pleading  and  com 
mand.  "  I  'm  every  bit  as  much  an  alien  as  this  lady." 

"  Not  if  you  're  an  American.     She  's  an  enemy  alien." 

"  She 's  not  an  enemy.  You  ought  n't  to  say  such 
things." 

"  Maybe  you  know  what  I  ought  to  say  better  than  the 
Government." 


CHAPTER  X 

WHEN  the  ordeal  at  the  police  station  came  to  an 
end,  every  person  there  was  extremely  on  edge — - 
except,  you'd  say,  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg.  Her  dignity 
under  the  ordeal  would  forever,  Napier  told  himself,  count 
in  his  mind  to  Miss  Greta's  credit.  Going  home,  she 
soothed  the  ruffled  spirits  of  Miss  Nan;  she  was  tender, 
reassuring;  she  smiled. 

Before  the  party  had  left  the  dinner  table  that  night, 
Julian  Grant  walked  in.  He  had  arrived  late  and  put 
up  at  the  Essex  Arms. 

"  I  shall  complain  to  his  mother  about  him  when  I  see 
her,"  Lady  Mclntyre  threatened.  They  all  fell  to  con 
gratulating  Julian  upon  his  parents'  arrival  in  London. 
The  fact  of  their  belated  and  difficult  return  from  Ger 
many  had  been  duly  chronicled  in  the  newspapers,  to 
gether  with  hints  of  the  unsuitable  treatment  to  which  Sir 
James  and  Lady  Nicholson  Grant  had  been  subjected. 
But  if,  as  was  plainly  the  case,  some  of  the  Lamborough 
party  waited  eagerly  to  hear  the  horrid  details,  Julian 
seemed  to  have  no  mind  to  make  the  most  of  his  oppor 
tunities. 

"I  suppose  they  told  you  all  about  it?"  Sir  William 
made  no  more  effort  than  Madge  to  disguise  his  desire  to 
know  the  worst. 

"Oh,  they  told  me  one  or  two  things.  It's  been  no 
118 


THE  MESSENGER  119 

worse  for  them  than  for  some  of  the  foreigners  over  here," 
was  the  unfilial  answer  which  Napier  challenged  on  other 
grounds.  Napier  had  the  facts  of  the  ill-treatment  of 
English  Kurgdst  from  the  Foreign  Office. 

Julian  lolled  in  his  chair.  People  made  a  great  deal  of 
a  little  inconvenience,  he  said,  especially  the  type  of  person 
who  was  a  Kurgdst.  It  was  a  speech  that  did  him  no  good 
in  that  company  —  being  far  too  much  like  a  reflection 
upon  a  highly  esteemed  pair  of  whom  their  son  should 
speak  with  an  even  greater  respect  than  the  ordinary 
person. 

Napier,  who  knew  Julian's  devotion  to  his  parents,  was 
morally  certain  that  Lady  Mclntyre  was  thinking  at  that 
moment  of  those  shining  lights  of  filial  duty,  Mr.  Carl 
and  Mr.  Ernst  Pforzheim.  They  would  never  cast  such  a 
reflection  upon  their  revered  Papa  as  to  suggest  he  was  a 
little  fussy  about  small  comforts.  No,  it  was  n't  nice  of 
Julian. 

So  little  did  Julian  recognize  this,  he  was  asking  if  any 
body  seriously  thought  inconvenience  was  avoidable  in  the 
vast  upheaval  of  war?  He  only  wished  that  inconvenience 
was  the  worst  that  any  of  them  might  have  to  complain 
of.  A  second  time  he  tripped  up  those  "  Foreign  Office 
facts "  of  Gavan's.  Julian  knew  about  those  "  facts." 
"  And  I  know  certain  others.  They  relate  to  ill-treatment 
too.  Facts  more  easily  examined.  No  trouble  about  sub 
jecting  those  facts  to  every  sort  of  test !  Why  ?  Because 
they  were  nearer  home.  Yet  I  doubt  if  the  Foreign  Office 
makes  any  note  of  them.  I  have  —  in  haphazard  way. 
But  enough  to  sober  any  man."  He  produced  two  or 
three.  Instances  of  harsh  dismissal  at  a  time  when  fresh 


120  THE  MESSENGEK 

employment  was  known  to  be  impossible.  Instances  of 
boycott,  of  petty  persecution,  all  because  of  a  foreign  name. 
It  was  the  kind  of  attempt  at  sober  balancing  still  possible 
even  under  the  roof  of  a  British  official.  A  willingness 
as  yet  unshackled  to  see  and  to  criticize  these  spots  on  the 
national  sun,  was  accounted  an  attitude  of  mind  peculiarly, 
proudly,  British.  If  this  particular  circle  was  readier 
than  most  to  admit  these  minor  blames,  it  was  largely 
because  of  sympathy  with  the  particular  German  who  was 
in  their  midst.  A  form  of  hospitality. 

To  Nan  Ellis,  Julian's  espousal  of  the  cause  of  the 
stranger  within  the  gate  was  as  music  in  the  ear  and  as 
honey  in  the  mouth.  Good !  good !  She  applauded  him 
with  hands  and  lips  and  eyes. 

On  leaving  the  dining-room,  everybody  began  to  put  on 
hats  and  wraps. 

"  Oh,  yes,  had  n't  you  heard,  Mr.  Julian  ?  Fearful  ex 
citement!  A  mine  has  been  washed  up  on  the  coast. 
And  you,  Madge,"  urged  her  father,  who  needed  no  urging 
whatever,  "  you  've  got  to  come  and  look  at  it,  too." 

They  all  went  down  to  the  beach,  and  walked  in  the 
moonlight,  by  the  incoming  tide,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  north 
of  the  pier. 

Miss  Greta  carried  her  coat  on  her  arm  at  first.  Would 
Mr.  Napier  be  so  kind?  He  stopped  to  help  her  into  the 
voluminous  white  canvas  ulster.  "  It  is  n't  true,  is  it,"  she 
said  in  a  low,  earnest  voice,  "  that  you  've  joined  an  0.  T. 
C.  and  go  drilling  in  the  park  after  working  hours  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  men  do  that,"  he  said,  struggling  to  enable 
Miss  Greta  to  find  the  armhole. 

"Not  men  like  you!"  she  whispered.     "And  when  you 


THE  MESSENGER  121 

are  n't  working  with  Sir  William,  you  go  route  marching, 
or  trench  digging  for  a  holiday !  " 

Napier  had  been  one  of  the  first  of  his  world  who  re 
fused  to  accept  the  fact  of  not  being  bred  a  soldier  as  an 
excuse  for  not  becoming  one.  But  that  Miss  Greta  should 
be  one  of  the  few  to  know  the  fact  did  not  please  him. 
"  Oh,  the  sleeve  's  wrong  side  out,"  he  said ;  "  that 's  why." 

The  ulster  had  to  come  off  again.  "  Surely," —  she 
turned  the  sleeve  with  deliberation  — "  surely  you  know 
that  before  you  are  nearly  ready  for  a  commission,  peace 
will  be  declared." 

"  You  think  peace  will  come  soon,  then  ?  " 

"Well,  of  course,  when  the  Germans  have  taken  Paris. 
There  now—  ''  she  stopped  short  again,  making  of  her 
compunction  an  excuse  to  widen  the  distance  between 
themselves  and  the  rest  of  the  party.  "  I  've  gone  in  my 
bungling  way  and  said  something  I  ought  n't  to.  I,  who 
would  rather  offend  anybody  on  earth  than  you." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  say  that."  He  began  to 
walk  on. 

"  You  don't  know  why  ?  " 

There  was  something  unnerving  in  the  appealing  sorrow 
of  the  question.  Why,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods,  had  n't 
he  kept  up  with  the  others  ? 

"  I  think  you  do  know,"  she  said,  a  pace  or  two  behind 
his  hurrying  figure. 

Napier  did  n't  look  round,  but  he  was  sure  that  the  tears 
in  her  voice  had  risen  to  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  go  on  ?     I  promised  Julian  —  " 

"  Ah,  you  've  already  gone  bn." 

"  Gone  —  "  he  paused  an  instant. 


122  THE  MESSENGER 

"Yes,  gone  back  inside  that  British  arctic  circle  that 
you  came  out  of  once  —  to  save  my  life."  She  gained  on 
him ;  she  was  panting  at  his  elbow.  "  I  shall  never  forget 
that,  Mr.  Gavan ;  never  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Oh,  you  make  too  much  of  — • " 

"  Too  much  of  saving  such  a  life  as  mine !  That  may 
be  true." 

"  You  know !  "  —  he  swung  back  a  step  —  "  that  was  n't 
in  the  least  what  I  meant.  I  —  you  see  —  I  say!  Ju 
lian  ! " 

When  Napier  had  caught  up  with  the  two  in  front,  Miss 
Greta  was  n't  far  behind. 

Nan  turned  an  excited  face.  "  Does  Gavan  know  ?  " 
she  asked  Julian. 

Just  as  though  Greta  were  n't  now  at  his  elbow,  Julian 
jerked  out,  "  He  can  easily  satisfy  himself.  Two  hundred 
people  on  the  Fourth  of  August  simply  vanished  from  our 
common  life.  No  public  charge,  no  trial  that  was  a  trial 
according  to  English  ideas  —  " 

"  Would  you  leave  known  spies  free  to  do  their  work  ?  " 
Napier  asked  sharply. 

"  Do  you  know  what  happened  to  them  ?  "  Nan  inter 
vened. 

"We  can  tell  what  happened  to  some  of  them.  Set 
blindfolded  against  a  wall  and  shot." 

"  How  perfectly  awful !  "  breathed  Nan. 

"Miss  Greta  isn't  as  horrified  as  you  are.  She  knows 
what  Germany  would  do  with  men  —  yes,  and  women  — 
arrested  on  even  slighter  evidence." 

"They'd  never  do  that  to  women!"  said  Nan,  aghast. 

"  Oh,  would  n't  they !  " 


THE  MESSENGER  123 

"  Set  a  woman  against  a  wall  and  shoot  her !  " 

"  It 's  logical/'  was  Miss  Greta's  comment. 

"  Logical !  "  echoed  Nan.     "  It 's  —  it 's  devilish." 

"Eisky  but  well  paid,"  observed  Napier,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  rippled  sand. 

"  It  should  be  well  paid,"  pronounced  the  quiet  voice  of 
Greta  von  Schwarzenberg.  They  had  come  up  with  Lady 
Mclntyre,  abandoned  by  the  advance-guard.  Nan  offered 
her  arm.  She  and  Greta  adapted  their  pace  to  the  older 
woman's. 

As  the  two  men  walked  on,  Julian  spoke  of  the  beauty 
of  ships  seen  in  that  transfiguring  light.  "  Only  two  or 
three  little  fishing-smacks,  and  yet  the  grace,  the  mys 
tery-" 

Napier's  eyes  had  gone  farther  seaward.  What  were 
those  other,  vaguer  shapes?  Was  there  a  mystery  more 
urgent  there?  The  night  was  unseasonably  warm,  but  a 
chill  invaded  him  as  he  asked,  "  Are  they  English  ?  " 

Julian,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  strolled  on 
without  troubling  to  reply. 

It  was  Napier  who  again  broke  silence. 

"  It 's  all  very  well  to  scoff  at  amateur  detectives.  Have 
you  thought  why  we  are  on  the  coast  ?  " 

"  Good  air." 

"  And  we  breathe  it  just  where  we  could  so  easily,  if  we 
were  as  accomplished  as  some,  make  signals  and  receive 
them." 

Julian  uttered  the  audible  sigh  of  much-tried  patience. 

"  Well,  think  a  moment.  Little  as  there  is  of  pro 
scribed  area  as  yet,  why  are  we  in  it?  Because  the  Mc- 
Intyres  chose  this  place  ?  " 


124  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Certainly.  Lady  Mclntyre  told  me  herself  about  coin 
ing  down  to  inspect  — 

"  Exactly !  —  a  house  selected  for  her.  We  are  in  the 
proscribed  area  because  the  enemy  alien  in  the  Mclntyre 
family  chose  this  place  for  them." 

"  I  tell  you,  Gavan,  I  'm  not  going  to  listen  - 

"  Yes,  you  are.  I  've  listened  to  you  often  enough. 
You  can  listen  to  me  for  once."  He  told  him  about  the 
leakage  of  the  shipping  secret.  The  loss  it  had  been  to  us. 
The  gain  it  had  been  to  the  enemy.  "  Old  Colonel  Mc- 
Manus  is  right.  She  has  poked  her  nose  everywhere." 

"  All  this  makes  me  anxious,"  said  Julian,  gravely. 

His  friend  breathed  a  free  half-minute. 

"  Very  anxious  about  you,  Gavan." 

"  See  here  —  "  Napier  stopped  short  —  "  because  I  was 
wrong  about  Gull  Island  is  no  reason  — 

"  So  you  're  satisfied  you  were  wrong,  are  you  ?  "  Julian 
said  lightly. 

"  Naturally,  since  you  found  nothing  to  report."  Then 
it  came  out  that  Julian  had  had  "  more  serious  things  "  to 
think  about.  He  had  n't  been  near  the  Island.  It  was  the 
first  serious  quarrel  of  their  lives. 

Napier  left  his  friend  and  caught  up  with  Sir  William. 
The  pressure  on  his  mind  did  not  suffer  him  to  wait  till 
he  got  his  chief  alone.  When  he  had  asked  and  obtained 
Sir  William's  reluctant  consent  "  to  a  few  days  off,"  Napier 
broke  through  the  little  hail  of  questions,  and  commented 
with,  "  Is  n't  that  the  mine  ?  " 

"  It  is !     It  is !  " 

Madge  flew  on  ahead,  deaf  to  Lady  Mclntyre's,  "  Wait 
for  your  father,  darling,"  -—  as  though  Sir  William's  pres- 


THE  MESSENGER  125 

ence  might  be  trusted  to  exercise  a  mollifying  effect  upon 
the  mine,  a  theory  which,  however,  she  was  n't  long  in 
publicly  abandoning. 

Fifty  yards  or  so  this  side  of  a  rock-strewn  indentation 
in  the  low  coast-line  there  it  lay,  that  strange,  new  creature 
of  the  deep,  with  nothing  in  its  aspect  to  account  for  the 
instantaneous  aversion  it  inspired  in  Lady  Mclntyre. 
Gray-white,  shaped  like  a  great  egg  or  a  pear,  according  to 
your  angle  of  vision,  seen  at  closer  quarters  it  might  be 
taken  for  a  well-stuffed  laundry-bag,  except  for  the  some 
thing  odd  protruding  from  its  mouth.  Lady  Mclntyre 
made  no  secret  of  her  intention  to  give  it  a  wide  berth.  As 
the  others  went  toward  the  Thing,  Lady  Mclntyre,  left 
alone  some  yards  away,  called  out,  "  I  wish  you  would  n't, 
William !  "  • 

"  Would  n't  what  ?  "  he  said  good-humoredly  over  his 
shoulder.  "  I  thought  we  had  come  for  the  express  pur 
pose  of  examining  it." 

"  Yes,  but  I  —  I  did  n't  know  it  would  be  like  that." 

"  You  can  hardly  have  expected  it  to  look  more  harm 
less,"  Sir  William  said  as  he  went  closer. 

"  That 's  just  it."  Her  wail  said*  she  would  n't  have 
minded  it  half  so  much  had  it  been  more  frankly  infernal. 
"  Anyway,  Madge  must  n't  —  Then,  with  a  rising  ter 
ror  in  her  voice,  Lady  Mclntrre  betrayed  the  degree  to 
which  she  had  lost  her  bearings  at  sight  of  that  mysterious 
messenger  of  death.  "  William,"  she  cried,  "  make  Madge 
come  away." 

"  It 's  all  right,  my  dear,  as  long  as  they  are  n't  touched. 
This  is  the  part,  you  see  —  " 

As"  he  appeared  to  be  in  the  act  of  doing  the  very  thing 


126  THE  MESSENGER 

he  himself  had  said  was  likely  to  have  dire  results,  Lady 
Mclntyre  raised  her  voice  still  higher.  "  Greta,  do,  do 
bring  Madge  here !  " 

Greta,  enveloped  in  a  canvas  coat  and  gray-white  motor- 
veil,  was  squatting  by  the  enemy.  She  seemed  to  hear 
nothing,  as  she  crouched  there  on  the  sand.  The  others 
listened  to  Sir  William,  and  they,  too,  looked  at  the  Thing, 
all  except  Napier.  He  looked  at  the  huddled  figure  staring 
with  that  curious  expression  at  the  mine.  It  was  canvas- 
covered  like  herself.  Like  herself,  of  rounded  contour  and 
of  incalculable  capacity  for  harm.  It  struck  Napier  rather 
horribly  that  there  was  kinship  between  the  two,  that  she 
hung  over  the  infernal  thing  like  a  mother  might  over  her 
child. 

"  Mr.  Napier,"  —  Lady  Mclntyre's  voice  shrilled  sharply 
behind  him  —  "will  you  get  Madge  to  come  away  ?  " 

It  was  Nan  who  achieved  the  impossible.  "  Brr !  I  'm 
cold,"  she  announced.  "  If  you  were  n't  too  grand,  Mr. 
Napier,  Madge  and  I  would  race  you  to  those  rocks." 

Mr.  Napier  was  n't  too  grand,  and  Miss  Madge  was 
elated  by  her  victory.  "  I  '11  race  you  back  again,"  she 
cried,  again  off  like  the  wind. 

They  sat  down  on  the  rocks  where  Madge  left  them. 
For  several  moments  there  was  no  sound  but  the  swish  and 
rattle  of  pebbles  as  they  swept  up  shore  in  the  advance, 
and  then,  deserted  by  the  force  behind,  fell  back  a  little, 
clinging  for  a  moment  to  the  skirts  of  the  retreating  wave. 

Nan,  with  her  white  veil  cloud-like  round  her  face, 
looked  at  the  track  of  light  across  the  water.  The  moon 
wore  a  cloud  round  her  face,  too,  but  she  looked  in  and  out. 
The  girl  was  very  still. 


THE  MESSENGER  137 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  my  dear ! "  Napier's  heart  cried  so  loud 
that  in  a  kind  of  terror  he  fell  upon  audible  speech.  "  It 
is  the  most  wonderful  night  I  ever  — "  and  he  stopped. 
His  voice  sounded  strange.  As  she  turned  from  the  moon- 
path  on  the  water  to  meet  Napier's  look  fastened  on  her, 
he  saw  that  her  eyes  had  brought  away  some  of  the  rest 
lessness  as  well  as  some  of  the  glitter  of  the  sea.  The 
adorable  gentleness  in  them  had  given  place  to  a  critical, 
sharp,  little  glance  that  affected  Napier  like  a  breath  from 
a  glacier. 

"  Sir  William  seems  immensely  devoted  to  you  —  "  To 
his  over-sensitive  ear  she  seemed  to  imply  that  being  de 
voted  to  Gavan  Napier  implied  a  singular  stretch  of 
charity.  Nor  would  she  accept  his  silence.  As  though  he 
must  himself  share  this  view  of  his  scant  deserts.  "  Don't 
you  think  it  very  nice  of  Sir  William  to  let  you  go  off  on 
a  holiday  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  " 

"  Very  nice  indeed." 

She  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her  face  upturned 
again.  But  the  soft  rapture  was  gone,  gone  utterly. 
"  Julian  is  looking  very  tired,  don't  you  think  ? "  she 
said. 

"  I  thought  he  did  look  tired." 

"  He  is  going  to  help  Mr.  Wilkins. 

"Who  is  Mr.  Wilkins?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wilkins  is  a  splendid  person  who  is  organizing 
stop-the-war  meetings." 

"  Well,"  said  Napier,  shortly,  "  that 's  a  good  way  to 
give  Mr.  Wilkins  a  taste  of  it." 

"  You  mean  a  taste  of  war  ?  "  She  dropped  her  hand. 
"  Oh,  I  wish  you  would  n't  say  things  like  that !  " 


128  THE  MESSENGEB 

"  How  I  am  making  her  hate  me ! "  he  said  to  him 
self.  "Well,  since  she  won't  love  me,  what  does  it 
matter?" 

But  it  did  matter.  It  mattered  to  the  very  core  of  him. 
It  mattered  to  the  waking  and  the  sleeping.  It  mattered 
for  all  of  life  —  he  knew  that  now.  It  would  add  a  bitter 
ness  to  the  bitterness  of  death.  To  die  never  having  had 
this  — 

She  sat  with  hands  lying  slack  in  her  lap.  "  I  think 
I  'd  like  to  go  home,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  like  England  as 
much  as  I  did." 

"Why  is  that?" 

She  looked  at  him  oddly  and  then  away.  After  another 
little  silence,  "  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  think  it 's  abominable 
the  way  they  are  talking  and  writing  about  the  men  who 
did  n't  approve  of  the  war  and  were  brave  enough  to  say 
so,  and  say  it  publicly."  She  turned  her  eyes  from  the 
curling,  crisping  foam  as  if  to  plead  for  some  little  sym 
pathy  for  these  views.  There  was  no  sign  on  Napier's 
face.  She  thrust  her  iron-pointed  stick  into  the  sand. 
"  What  they  've  given  up,  some  of  those  men,  for  the  sake 
of  —  oh,  it 's  the  most  splendid  thing  I  ever  came  near 
to  !  I  love  those  men." 

"All  of  them?"  Napier  asked  drily. 

She  sprang  up.  "  I  won't  have  you  mocking  at  me.  Or 
at  Julian !  " 

"  I  don't  mock  at  Julian." 

"Oh,  only  at  me?"  She  laughed  a  little  uncertainly 
and  then  became  grave  again,  but  not,  Napier  felt,  un 
friendly.  "  You  know,  his  father  has  gone  home  to  Scot 
land.  His  mother,  too.  And  Julian  is  here."  They 


THE  MESSENGER  129 

were  silent  a  moment.  "  And  I  just  wish  they  'd  stayed 
in  Germany,"  she  burst  out.  "  They  are  horrid  to  Julian. 
They  've  as  good  as  told  him  they  're  ashamed  of  him. 
But  they  don't  deserve  to  have  a  son  like  Julian.  If  he 
was  my  son  .  .  ." 

Napier  smiled.     "  Well,  if  he  were  your  son  ?  " 

"  I  'd  know  how  to  treat  him.  I  'd  know  rather  better 
than  I  do  now,"  she  wound  up,  with  her  astonishing  can 
dor. 

Hardly  two  yards  away  the  inrushing  surf  foamed  as 
white  as  boiling  milk  among  the  boulders. 

"  How  long,"  she  asked,  with  something  breathless  in 
her  manner,  "  before  the  tide  reaches  as  far  as  where  we 
are?" 

"  Not  long."  Even  as  he  spoke,  one  of  those  waves  that 
will  sometimes  outrace  its  fellows  rushed  up  the  beach  and 
flung  itself  in  thunder  against  the  outward  barrier.  In 
spume  and  froth  it  ran  whitely  in  and  out  nearly  to  the 
upper  rocks,  filling  all  the  place  with  motion  and  a  dazzle 
of  moonlit  foam. 

"  It  seems  to  set  the  rocks  moving.  And  the  noise ! 
Does  n't  it  make  you  dizzy  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  does  me." 

"  Then  come  higher  up." 

She  shook  her  head.  He  showed  a  place  at  his  side. 
"  Sit  here  if  you  feel  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  like  to  feel  dizzy.  That 's  the  great  dif 
ference  between  you  and  me,"  Her  laugh  was  gone  in  a 
second.  With  her  eye  on  the  receding  wave  she  asked 
hurriedly,  "  Where  are  you  going  for  your  holiday  ?  " 

His  plans  were  dependent  on  other  people,  he  said. 

"  You  make  me  wonder  what  l  other  people  '  you  've  got. 


130  THE  MESSENGEK 

How  little  I  know  about  you."  She  tumbled  the  sentences 
out. 

"  Well,  come  to  that,  how  little  I  know  about  you." 

"  There  is  n't  anything  I  'm  not  willing  to  tell  you  — 
if  —  if  you  cared  to  know."  She  spoke  more  gently,  even 
with  a  touch  of  wistfulness.  "You  British  are  so  ret 
icent  ! "  He  did  n't  deny  the  charge.  He  felt  her  eyes 
on  his  face,  as  she  said,  "  I  have  an  idea  you  would  n't  be 
—  if  you  once  got  started." 

He  laughed  out  again  at  that  shot.  "  The  only  safe 
way  then,"  he  said,  "  is  not  to  get  started." 

"  Oh,  do  get  started ! "  She  said  it  with  a  touch  of 
roguery  lightening  her  new  seriousness.  "  I  should  so 
like  to  see  you  indiscreet  for  once." 

Deliberately  Napier  didn't  look  at  her  again,  till  the 
danger-point  was  safely  rounded  by  her  saying,  "  Greta 
thinks  you  're  going  to  Scotland." 

"  Oh,  does  she  ? "  He  looked  at  her  straight  enough 
now.  "  And  does  she  tell  you  why  ?  " 

"  No;  but  you'll  tell  me  that." 

"  Maybe  I  will,"  he  answered  a  trifle  grimly,  "  when  I 
come  back." 

She  studied  him.  "  You  are  very  serious."  She  leaned 
a  trifle  nearer.  "  You  are  more  serious,  I  think,  than  I 
ever  saw  you." 

Napier  smiled.  In  his  heart  he  was  thinking :  "  Before 
she  is  up  in  the  morning,  I  shall  be  gone.  On  the  errand 
that  will  end  even  her  surface  kindness  to  Greta's  enemy. 
This  is  the  last  time.  She  will  never  again  stand  so  near 
and  look  at  me  with  those  eyes  of  faith." 

"  Are  n't  you  rather  serious,  too  ?  "  he  asked. 


THE  MESSENGER  131 

She  spoke  through  his  question,  impulsively,  lifting  her 
voice  a  little  above  the  nearing  thunder.  "  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre  thinks  you  are  going  to  see  a  lady." 

He  made  his  small  effort  at  jocularity.  "  I  must  speak 
to  Lady  Mclntyre." 

"  Are  you  such  a  fickle  person  ?  " 

"Is  that  what  they  say?" 

"  They  think  you  are  fickle  about  women." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  achieving  an  effect  of  jauntiness,  "  and 
what 's  your  opinion,  Miss  Kan  ?  " 

"  They  don't  understand  you,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  And  do  you  understand  me  ?  "  he  laughed. 

"  Yes.  Because  I  'm  like  that  myself.  They  call  me 
fickle,  too.  But  it 's  only  that  we  have  n't  —  had  n't  " — 
she  amended  with  that  sudden  summer  lightning  in  her 
eyes  — "  had  n't  met  The  One."  If  she  came  closer  still,  it 
seemed  not  to  be  by  her  own  volition,  but  in  the  same  way 
as  she  had  spoken  —  at  the  bidding  of  some  influence  out 
side  them  both.  Napier  half  turned  from  the  too-dis 
turbing  nearness  and  instinctively  put  out  a  hand  to  the 
boulder,  shoulder-high,  just  in  front  of  him.  But  his 
hand  moved  short  of  its  goal,  unguided  by  a  mind  that  was 
awhirl  in  a  maelstrom  where  duties,  inclinations,  friend 
ships,  loves,  all  churned  in  an  eddy  of  such  surpassing 
swiftness  that  the  brain  reeled  and  the  heart  forgot  its 
rhythm. 

"  Always  thinking  —  but  why  does  your  hand  shake 
so  ?  "  —  the  girl's  voice  was  so  low,  that  he  hardly  heard 
it  above  the  surf,  as  she  hurried  on.  "  Maybe  it 's  this  one. 
No?  Then  perhaps  it's  that.  And  always  wrong  —  till 
one  day  — » in  the  hall  —  "a  very  passion  of  triumph 


132  THE  MESSENGER 

thrilled  through  her  question,  "Wasn't  it  in  the  hall  at 
Kirklamont  ?  " 

"Nan!"  he  cried  out. 

And  she,  on  a  note  that  the  surf  took  up  and  carried 
out  to  sea,  cried,  "  Gavan !  "  On  whose  initiative  neither 
knew,  they  were  clinging  together.  They  cared  as  little 
for  sea  water  as  did  the  rocks.  The  two  stood  there  like 
one  —  as  if  through  all  the  moons  to  come  they  would 
bide  as  steadfast  in  their  rapture  as  the  rocks  in  foam. 

When  she  drew  her  face  away  from  his,  and  they  looked 
at  each  other,  it  was  with  the  knowledge  that  the  wash  of 
a  greater  sea  than  this  they  stood  beside  had  flung  them, 
companion  castaways,  on  the  shore  of  a  new  world. 

She  had  thrown  back  her  head.  The  scarf  fell  down 
over  her  shoulder  to  her  feet,  a  tiny  cascade  to  join  the 
whiteness  of  sea  water.  All  veils  had  been  stripped  off 
for  that  moment  of  uttermost  joy,  before  the  man  cried 
sharply,  "  Julian  !  "  and  his  arms  fell  down  to  his  sides. 

"Julian!"  the  girl  echoed,  aghast.  She  stumbled  back 
a  step.  He  did  n't  try  to  save  her.  She  fell  against  the 
rock.  Her  hand,  that  tried  to  break  the  fall,  was  wrenched 
at  the  wrist.  She  hardly  knew  it  at  the  time. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  back."  He  was  leading  her  through 
swirling  foam. 

"  How  can  we  go  back  ?  "  she  whispered.  But  she  fol 
lowed  him.  They  found  the  others  waiting  for  them  by 
the  pier. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  was  not  such  dirty  weather  as  McClintock  the  boat 
man  had  prophesied.  Though  the  night  was  dark 
and  the  sky  mantled  in  heavy  cloud,  the  rain  was  hardly 
more  than  a  Scotch  mist.  That  is  to  say,  it  was  no  rain 
at  all  in  the  terms  of  the  North.  On  the  mainland  the 
temperature  was  mild  to  mugginess.  But  once  away  and 
under  full  sail,  a  decent  little  breeze  carried  the  boat 
smartly  over  the  long  rollers. 

Napier  had  taken  his  place  at  the  tiller.  Half-way  to 
the  objective,  which  had  not  yet  been  named,  he  added  to 
the  sense  of  the  importance  of  the  expedition  by  proposing 
to  double  McClintock's  fee  as  some  compensation  for  doing 
without  his  pipe  for  an  hour  or  two  after  landing. 

Napier  anticipated  a  tussle  over  this  point.  McClin 
tock's  grunt  might  mean  anything  from  pig-headed  re 
fusal  to  whole-hearted  agreement. 

"  Naturally,"  Napier  went  on,  with  an  air  of  being  a 
deal  more  easy  than  he  felt,  "  when  I  wanted  to  overhaul 
Gull  Island,  I  thought  of  the  man  who  took  Julian  and 
me  there  when  we  were  boys." 

"  Gairrmans !  "  remarked  McClintock,  careful  to  abstain 
from  the  rising  inflection. 

"  What !     Have  you  seen  something  ?  " 

"  Na,  na ;  but  I  have  na  lookit."  He  took  the  pipe  out 

133 


134  THE  MESSENGER 

of  his  mouth  and  knocked  the  ashes  into  the  sea. 
"  They  'II  be  verra  gude  at  smellin'  oot."  It  was  so  he  in 
dorsed  Napier's  generalship,  and  accepted  service. 

The  only  notice  taken  of  the  observation  seemed  to  hint 
at  a  further  acuteness  for  McClintock  to  reckon  with. 
"  I  '11  tell  you  the  plan  in  two  words,"  Napier  said,  "  and 
then  we'd  best  not  be  talking  for  the  next  couple  of 
hours."  When  he  'd  landed  Napier,  McClintock  was  to 
lie  low  in  his  boat,  just  offshore,  f or\  about  an  hour  and  a 
half,  unless  one  of  two  things  happened.  If  McClintock 
should  see  a  light  on  the  rocks  at  the  top  of  the  gorge,  he 
might,  if  he  liked,  come  and  see  what  was  up,  but  if  he 
should  hear  a  pistol-shot,  whatever  length  of  time  he  'd  been 
left  alone,  he  was  to  wait  half  an  hour  longer.  If,  by  then, 
Napier  had  neither  appeared  nor  shown  a  light,  McClintock 
was  to  get  along  back  to  Kirklamont  and  raise  the  hue  and 
cry  —  an  extremity,  he  was  to  understand,  which  Napier 
particularly  desired  to  avoid.  And  that  was  why  he  was 
going  by  himself,  going  with  extreme  caution,  just  to 
establish  the  fact  that  there  was  no  reason  why  they 
shouldn't  come  back  by  daylight  safely  enough  and  go 
over  the  old  ground  together.  For  a  last  word,  Napier  re 
marked  that  he  had  n't  forgotten  McClintock  had  taught 
him  and  Julian  more  than  fishing  and  sailing,  and  here 
was  a  pistol  he  'd  best  keep  handy. 

The  old  man  slipped  the  weapon  into  the  pocket  of  his 
reefer  as  casually  as  though  it  had  been  another  pipe. 
But  he  remarked  that  he  was  more  at  home  in  these  days 
with  a  knife,  whether  for  oysters  "or  whatever."  There 
was  no  doubt  that  McClintock  was  not  only  enlisted,  but 
interested  at  last. 


THE  MESSENGER  .     135 

He  brought  his  boat  softly  up  on  the  spit  of  sand  left 
by  the  tide,  sole  landing-place  of  this  nature  on  all  the 
little  rockbound  coast.  The  only  sounds  abroad  were  the 
shrill  keep,  keep,  of  the  sea-pie,  and  a  swish  of  wings  out 
of  the  cliff. 

Without  a  word  being  exchanged,  Napier  went  over  the 
side,  through  a  shallow  ripple  to  the  little  beach,  so  narrow 
as  to  be  hardly  more  than  a  window  of  gravel  at  the  foot 
of  the  cliff.  In  a  sense  this  was  an  advantage  once  he  was 
piloted  safely  to  the  sand  spit.  He  remembered  he  had 
only  to  hug  the  cliff  till  he  came  to  that  place  —  scene  of 
many  a  wreck,  where  the  cliff  fell  sharply  in  a  chaos  of 
boulders  tumbling  out  to  sea.  By  bearing  inland,  Napier 
would  cross  at  its  narrowest  the  neck  of  what  he  used  to 
think  looked  like  the  wreckage  of  a  pier.  Quite  suddenly 
he  would  come  into  a  gentler  region,  a  gradual  acclivity 
that  led  through  willow  and  heather  and  bracken  up  to 
the  apex  of  the  height  which,  midmost  of  the  island,  com 
manded  all  points  of  the  compass.  If  there  was  an  in 
stallation,  it  would  be  there  masked  from  the  mainland, 
among  the  rocks  at  the  top  of  the  gorge.  And  if  the  in 
stallation  was  there,  Napier  would  find  it,  provided  some 
body  did  not  first  find  him. 

The  night  was  warm  for  September,  but  till  he  landed, 
the  wet  breeze  had  struck  cold.  Here,  on  the  island, 
summer  seemed  to  linger.  The  air  was  still  full  of  the  sun- 
quickened  scent  of  pines.  The  sweetness  of  thyme  was 
stronger  than  the  faint  bitter  of  bracken.  But  these 
things  reached  Napier  vaguely.  Those  admirable  servants, 
his  eyes,  were  well  used  by  now  to  this  half-darkness;  but 
they  could  do  little  for  him  in  comparison  with  the  two 


136  THE  MESSENGER 

other  allies,  his  hearing  and  the  quickened  power  of  the 
humblest  faculty  of  all.  As  he  felt  his  way  with  foot 
and  shoulder,  the  new  significance  in  contact  seemed  to 
extend  from  living  flesh  and  nerve  to  the  rattan  stick  he 
carried.  The  soft  alternate  strokes,  now  right,  now  left 
advised  him  of  the  gorse  clumps,  of  a  solitary  stone-pine, 
or  an  occasional  rock  half  submerged  in  coarse  grass  and 
heather.  Every  few  yards  he  stopped  to  listen.  Yet  he 
got  over  the  ground  with  a  quickness  that  brought  him 
a  jolt  of  surprise  when,  the  ascent  grown  suddenly  steeper 
and  less  verdured,  he  found  himself  near  the  top  of  the 
hangar.  He  had  readied  the  place  where  the  bony 
shoulders  of  the  island  rose  naked  above  her  mantle  of 
green  and  heather-purple. 

Though  he  could  see  virtually  nothing  of  the  wide  pros 
pect  daylight  opened  out  from  this  point,  he  was  too  well 
aware  of  the  prodigies  of  vision  possible  to  trained  eyes 
for  him  to  risk  showing  any  faintest  shadow  moving  on 
the  sky-line.  Before  he  came  to  the  top  he  was  making 
his  progress  bent  nearly  double;  crouching  to  listen,  and 
then  creeping  along  on  hands  and  knees. 

The  comparatively  uniform  surfaces  of  the  mother-rock 
showed  no  sign  yet  of  dropping  down  to  chaos.  But  Napier 
knew  where  he  was.  The  tinkle  of  water  told  him.  In 
two  minutes  he  was  craning  over  the  lip  of  the  gorge, 
staring  into  the  murk  beneath  him. 

A  mere  gulf  of  shadow. 

No  man  in  his  senses  would  venture  farther  on  a  night 
like  this,  unless  he  had  in  his  memory  one  of  those  in 
delible  maps  that  only  youth  knows  the  secret  of  engraving. 
It  was  such  a  map  that  Napier  turned  back  to  as  he  lay 


THE  MESSENGER  137 

there  in  the  dark,  getting  not  only  the  detail,  but  the 
order,  clear  again  in  his  head. 

The  remembered  call  of  the  water  came  up  insistent. 
Almost  Napier  could  imagine  that  he  made  it  out,  that 
nook,  a  few  yards  below,  which  had  always  been  the  boys' 
first  stopping-place.  In  the  driest  summer  a  thread  of 
pure  fresh  water  trickled  out  of  a  fissure  in  the  granite 
down  there  among  the  ferns.  In  spring  the  trickle  would 
swell  to  a  torrent.  It  would  go  boiling  over  the  worn 
boulders  till  it  plunged  down  that  last  lap  in  noise  and 
foam  into  the  tiny  lake,  the  small  rock  basin  of  steel-blue 
water,  smiling  in  the  sunshine  of  memory,  but  even  in 
that  light  set  warningly  about  with  nearly  perpendicular 
walls  on  three  sides.  On  this  southern  arc,  more  terribly 
furnished  still,  with  rocks  of  sharper  tooth,  calved  later 
from  the  mother  in  labor  of  heat  and  frost. 

After  quenching  their  thirst,  the  boys'  next  stopping- 
place  would  be  Table  Rock,  a  third  of  the  way  to  the 
bottom.  There  they  would  lie  stretched  out  to  the  sun 
and  eat  their  sandwiches.  Then  they  would  crawl  to  the 
far  edge  and  peer  over  for  that  dizzy  view  of  the  great 
boss,  the  outcrop  of  granite  eighteen  to  twenty  feet  below 
them  on  the  left.  By  virtue  of  place  or  special  constitu 
tion,  it  had  possessed  a  power  to  resist  the  forces  of  disin 
tegration.  It  treated  the  very  torrent  cavalierly,  for  it 
butted  the  torrent  aside  with  that  Giant's  Head,  and  then 
bent  leisurely  over  to  look  at  itself  in  the  lake. 

There  were  days  when  the  jutting  forehead,  with  its 
crown  of  heather  and  veil  of  creepers  interlaced,  was  seen 
more  clearly  mirrored  in  the  water  than  when  looked 
straight  down  upon  from  Table  Rock  or  from  the  op- 


138  THE  MESSENGER 

posite  cliff  across  the  lake.  Neither  point  of  view  gave 
one  the  smallest  inkling  of  what  was  under  the  veil,  be 
hind  the  brow  of  granite. 

Napier  sniffed  the  wet  air  for  smoldering  wood.  No 
whiff,  no  sound. 

What  the  devil  had  been  in  Greta's  mind?  The  cause 
of  her  panic,  whatever  it  was,  no  longer  inhabited  here. 
Napier  would  feel  his  way  down  as  quickly  as  due  caution 
would  permit,  and  in  less  than  forty  minutes  he  'd  be 
back  in  the  boat  with  McClintock. 

All  he  had  to  do  was  to  steer  clear  of  Table  Rock  and 
follow  the  watercourse  till  it  bore  away  to  the  left.  Any 
one  who  knew  his  ground  and  kept  to  the  right  could 
easily  enough  let  himself  down  to  that  comfortable  ledge 
under  the  Giant's  Head.  Sometimes  you  found  bilberries 
there.  Anyway,  you  found  the  niche  that  sheltered  you 
from  rain.  And  then  you  went  on  to  the  discovery  that 
took  your  breath. 

In  the  old  days  you  waited  for  McClintock  with  beating 
hearts,  even  if  there  were  two  of  you.  Gavan  eight  and 
Julian  seven,  would  follow  behind  the  old  sou'wester  to 
the  end  of  the  curving  gallery,  where  a  drop  of  some  four 
feet  landed  you  in  the  irregular-shaped  stone  chamber 
where  the  smugglers  long  ago  had  hid  the  contraband. 
How  did  they  get  it  round  the  Giant's  Head?  you  asked, 
remembering  the  narrow  way.  They  did  n't  get  it  round. 
They  lowered  it  over  the  top.  McClintock  could  show  you 
the  grooves  worn  in  the  granite.  Good  days,  those ! 

Wet  and  a  little  chilled,  but  without  misgiving,  Napier 
let  himself  down  among  the  rocks.  He  began  the  descent 
with  a  swing  of  the  rattan  to  take  his  immediate  bearings. 


THE  MESSENGER  139 

Before  he  brought  the  stick  full  circle,  he  dropped  the  hand 
that  held  it.  What  was  this  against  the  side  of  his  knee  ? 
He  bent  down  and  found  his  face  a  few  inches  from  a 
steel  cable,  screwed  taut,  and  straining  aslant  skyward. 
His  eye  followed  the  outline  of  the  twisted  strand  till  it 
met  a  slender  rod  planted  discreetly  among  the  rocks. 
Planted  so  discreetly  that  it  was  completely  masked  from 
observation  on  three  points  of  the  compass  and  would  not 
easily  be  detected  on  the  fourth.  Napier  could  not  make 
out  the  wire  connecting  the  farther  one  of  the  antenna? 
onto  this  one  above  his  head;  but  he  knew  that  it  was 
there.  He  knew  that  he  had  set  his  knee  against  one  of 
the  guys  of  a  wireless.  He  moved  only  a  couple  of  inches 
away  from  that  significant  companionship  and  stood  quite 
still. 

Was  this  installation  a  prewar  dodge,  abandoned  now? 
And  if  not  abandoned  — 

He  found  himself  making  his  way  down  with  his  right 
hand  in  his  pistol-pocket.  Gull  Island  was  another  place 
with  that  wand  of  magic  set  up  among  the  rocks. 

He  started  as  violently  as  if  a  gun  had  gone  off.  Only 
the  vicious  snapping  of  a  dry  twig  under  foot;  but,  Lord, 
the  racket!  His  caution  redoubled. 

With  horror  he  remembered  that  old  pastime  —  rolling 
the  rocks  down.  How  they  bounded  and  crashed !  Across 
the  years  he  heard  again  the  reverberant  thunder  of  that 
long  falling.  What  if  he  should  displace  one  of  these. 
.  .  .  He  drew  his  foot  back,  trembling  from  head  to  heel 
at  the  slight  rocking  of  a  boulder.  Could  he  venture  down 
in  this  darkness  ? 

Was  n't,  after  all,  the  darkness  an  indispensable  part  of 


140  THE  MESSENGEK 

his  plan?  He  stood  and  listened.  Behind  the  sound  of 
falling  water  there  was  nothing,  not  even  a  bird's  note. 
The  stillness  was  piercing.  Under  its  penetrant  impact  he 
shrank  inwardly. 

What  was  that? 

Something  had  sprung  out  of  the  shadow.  Lord ! 
Nothing  but  an  infernal  rabbit;  and  the  damned  fool  had 
dislodged  a  few  little  stones. 

Napier  sat  crouching  in  the  gorge  a  good  four  or  five 
minutes  after  the  last  of  that  pop-popping  died.  He  had 
pulled  off  his  cap  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket.  He  wiped 
his  forehead.  Whew !  nothing  but  a  damned  rabbit ! 

He  listened  an  instant,  and  then  went  on  down  in  the 
murk  and  the  fine  rain.  Suddenly  he  stood  still  again. 
There  was  n't  a  sound  his  ear  could  verify.  But  he  held 
his  breath,  while  horror  moved  like  a  wind  in  his  hair. 

He  was  n't  alone. 

How  he  knew,  he  couldn't  have  told.  He  plunged  his 
hand  into  his  revolver  pocket,  braced  himself,  and  waited. 
Waited  while  the  seconds  passed.  Waited  till  that  first 
strong  impression  weakened,  till  he  had  silently  called  him 
self  a  few  unpleasant  names,  and  had  drawn  out  of  his 
pocket  the  cap  he  told  himself  his  addled  pate  needed  more 
than  the  protection  of  firearms.  He  went  on  in  the  act 
of  settling  the  cap  firmly  on  his  head.  He  had  heard  noth 
ing,  seen  nothing,  when  a  blow  on  the  back  all  but  felled 
him.  He  saved  himself  from  falling  flat  only  by  plunging 
a  few  paces  down  the  gorge.  He  managed  to  recover,  and 
wheeled  about,  his  hand  at  his  pocket.  Before  he  could 
get  at  his  pistol,  that  hand  and  the  other  arm  were  seized 
in  a  powerful  grip.  His  hobnailed  boot  did  him  the  in- 


THE  MESSENGER  141 

stant  service  of  bringing  his  assailant  down  on  one  knee. 
But  Napier  was  dragged  along  with  him  in  those  arms  of 
iron.  It  flashed  over  Napier  that  the  aim  of  this  dumb 
enemy  was  not  so  much  to  kill  as  to  disarm  him. 

It  was  a  battle  for  a  pistol.  The  conviction  grew  in 
Napier's  mind  that  he  would  already  be  lying  dead  there 
among  the  rocks  but  for  the  man's  strange  caution.  He 
didn't  want  that  pistol  to  go  off;  and  so  they  wrestled  in 
a  nightmare  of  blind  silence.  Now  one,  and  now  the 
other,  regained  his  footing  and  then  lost  it;  and  now 
they  both  went  rolling  down  together  till  the  rocks 
stopped  them.  And  still  no  word  was  spoken. 

Twice  Napier  had  his  fingers  almost  on  the  trigger,  and 
twice  his  hand  was  wrenched  away.  The  last  time  a  thick 
voice  whispered,  "  Drop  it !  Don't  you  know  you  're  a  dead 
man  if  you  make  a  sound  ? "  The  voice  of  Bloom,  Sir 
William's  chauffeur!  He  had  got  Napier  down  again; 
the  full  weight  of  the  assailant's  body  was  on  Napier's 
head ;  his  left  arm  pinned  under  him.  In  that  strangling 
darkness  Napier  told  himself  the  end  had  come.  He  was 
dead  already.  Why  was  he  resisting?  He  knew  why, 
when  he  felt  Bloom's  teeth  on  his  right  forearm.  He  felt 
the  pistol  go  from  his  bruised  side.  He  heard  the  drop 
among  the  scant  herbage  of  the  rocks. 

It  was  over.  Resistance  had  been  battered  out  of  him. 
He  was  quite  sure  of  that.  Why  didn't  Bloom  let  him 
alone?  Why  was  the  fellow  dragging  him  down? 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  they  couldn't  be  far 
from  Table  Rock.  Bloom  was  going  to  throw  him  over! 

He  had  loosed  his  hold  on  Napier's  shoulder.  Breathing 
heavily,  he  had  come  round  and  straddled  across  his  vie- 


142  THE  MESSENGEK 

tim's  body.  He  fastened  his  hands  in  Napier's  torn  collar, 
pulled  him  up  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  dashed  his  head 
against  a  boulder.  Not  quite  squarely,  for  Bloom's  foot 
had  slipped  on  the  wet  moss.  He  braced  himself  and  took 
fresh  hold.  In  that  second  the  impotence  passed  out  of 
Napier's  body.  His  sinews  hardened  as  he  locked  his 
maimed  arms  round  the  man.  Before  Bloom  could  re 
cover  from  the  disadvantage  of  his  stooping  posture, 
Napier,  in  a  spasm  of  dying  energy,  had  rolled  with  the 
chauffeur  in  his  arms  toward  the  edge  of  Table  Eock. 
More  angry  than  frightened  by  the  suddenness  of  Napier's 
recovery,  Bloom  was  striking  wild. 

"  He  does  n't  know  where  he  is ! "  Napier  said  to  him 
self  with  exultation.  In  a  very  convulsion  of  insane 
strength  he  gripped  the  panting  body  of  the  German  and 
flung  it  out  over  the  edge  of  Table  Eock. 

He  hung  there  listening. 

But  the  blood  flowed  into  his  ears  as  well  as  into  his 
eyes.  No  sound  reached  him.  He  tried  to  crawl  back 
toward  the  stream.  On  the  way  unconsciousness,  like  an 
angel  out  of  heaven,  came  down  and  covered  him. 

In  spite  of  the  tribute  to  McClintock's  being  able  to  do 
what  he  was  told,  the  old  man  had  no  mind  to  go  home  at 
the  end  of  the  time  stipulated  without  knowing  something 
of  what  was  keeping  Mr.  Gavan.  And  so,  some  three 
quarters  of  an  hour  after  that  body  had  shot  out  into  the 
void,  the  fisherman,  picking  his  way  cannily  down  the 
gorge,  slipped  on  something  soft.  His  questing  hands 
felt  blood,  new  spilt.  A  match,  lit  in  his  sou'wester  and 
instantly  smothered,  showed  him  enough.  He  drew  back 


THE  MESSENGEE  143 

behind  a  rock  and  waited  there  several  minutes,  listening. 
When  he  got  back  to  Napier,  he  had  the  sou'wester  half 
full  of  water.  He  sprinkled  it  over  Napier's  face.  He 
poured  whisky  down  his  throat.  Aye,  that  was  better. 
Napier  was  presently  able  to  say  that  a  man  who  attacked 
him  had  been  thrown  over  Table  Eock.  The  question 
was,  could  McClintock  get  Napier  back  to  the  boat  ? 

Oh,  aye,  McClintock  could  do  that  same.  But  Mr. 
Gavan  had  best  bide  there  a  little  longer;  and  here  was 
the  whiskey-flask  to  keep  him  company. 

Napier  sent  a  whisper  of  remonstrance  after  him  as  the 
foolhardy  old  man  went  down  the  gorge.  Too  well  Napier 
knew  where  McClintock  would  be  going.  And  he  had  n't 
warned  him!  Poor  old  McClintock!  Napier  lay  there  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  crawled  to  the  water.  He  bathed 
his  head  and  drank  some  more  whiskey.  He  tried  to  stand 
but  could  n't  manage  that,  and  went  on  hands  and  knees. 
He  had  no  clear  idea  what  he  was  doing.  But  McClintock 
was  fumbling  his  way  down  there  without  a  notion  of  the 
risk  he  ran. 

Presently  Napier  found  he  could  stand,  after  a  fashion. 
So  he  staggered  on  till  the  stream  turned  to  the  left,  and 
Napier,  to  the  right,  was  making  his  way  round  the  Giant's 
Head  down  to  the  ledge  beneath. 

"  McClintock ! "  he  whispered,  and  steadied  himself 
against  the  rock  wall  to  listen.  McClintock  must  have 
gone  in !  Napier  had  no  consciousness  of  making  any  de 
cision.  He  merely  found  himself  feeling  the  way  along 
an  inward-curving  gallery  when  the  pitch  blackness  in 
front  of  him  opened  on  a  wedge  of  light,  fierce,  intolerable. 
As  suddenly,  the  light  was  gone. 


144  THE  MESSENGER 

If  he  had  been  quite  clear  in  his  head,  Napier  declared 
afterward,  he  would  have  prudently  retraced  his  steps. 

As  it  was,  a  sense  of  blind  compulsion  was  on  him.  For 
in  that  dazzling  instant  he  'd  had  a  glimpse  of  McClintock. 
Poor  old  MeClintock,  whom  Napier  had  inveigled  into  this 
trap;  McClintock,  his  heavy  shoulder,  his  sou'wester,  and 
a  bristle  of  beard  stamped  for  an  instant  on  that  blinding, 
impossible  light.  Streaks  of  it  still  leaked  through  the 
blackness.  Napier's  outstretched  hand  came  almost  at  once 
against  something  soft,  yielding.  A  double-felted  curtain. 
He  grasped  it  and  stared  through,  to  find  himself  standing 
at  the  top  of  a  carpeted  incline,  looking  down  into  a 
luxurious  room,  flooded  with  high-power,  electric  light. 
In  the  glare  McClintock,  with  a  knife  in  his  hand,  stood 
not  ten  feet  from  a  man  in  shirt-sleeves  seated  at  a  table. 
The  back  of  the  seated  figure  was  turned  partly  away  from 
the  entrance;  his  head  bent;  a  green  shade  over  his  eyes. 
He  was  taking  down  a  message.  A  metal  band  over  his 
crown,  ear-caps  set  close  to  his  head,  held  him  oblivious  to 
all  sound  save  that  which  the  mysterious  forces  of  nature 
were  ticking  into  his  ears. 

Not  McClintock's  wary  approach,  but  Napier's  less 
cautious  movement  of  the  felted  curtain,  or  some  cooler 
air  current  penetrating  the  overheated  chamber,  was  re 
sponsible  for  that  slight  turn  of  the  harnessed  head.  It 
was  Carl  Pforzheim !  His  cry  died  on  his  lips  as  he  tore 
off  the  shade.  But  he  couldn't  in  that  lightning  instant 
wrench  himself  free  of  the  apparatus,  for  the  cord  had  be 
come  wound  round  his  neck.  He  presented  a  sickening 
impression  of  one  struggling  in  a  man-trap,  showing,  as  a 
wild  animal  might,  a  flash  of  bared  teeth  as  he  strained 


THE  MESSENGER  145 

out  across  the  table  and  seized  a  revolver.  The  shot  went 
wild.  For  he  had  turned  to  face  the  descent  of  McClin- 
tock's  knife.  Pforzheim  fell  sidewise  against  the  pink 
wall  of  petrol  tins,  still  hung  up  by  his  apparat,  and  drib 
bling  scarlet  over  the  pink. 

They  spent  the  night  with  the  dead  body. 

There  were  two  good  beds,  but  only  one  was  slept  in. 
McClintock  mounted  guard.  In  the  morning  he  went  out 
and  found  the  body  of  Sir  William's  chauffeur.  He  buried 
him  with  Pforzheim. 

The  den  was  stocked  with  supplies,  wine,  cigars,  food, 
books,  cards.  There  were  very  few  papers,  but  they  were 
worth  coming  for. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ANTWERP,  in  flames  from,  incendiary  bombs,  had 
fallen  to  the  Germans,  and  hot  fighting  was  in  prog 
ress  between  Arras  and  Albert  and  from  Laon  to  Rheims 
when  Napier,  not  yet  recovered  from  his  shooting  accident, 
returned  from  Scotland  in  October. 

At  his  chambers  in  St.  James'  he  was  told  that  an  urgent 
message  had  come  for  him  from  Lamborough.  Would  he 
please  say  nothing  about  it  to  Sir  William,  who  must  not 
be  alarmed,  but  very  particularly  would  he  please  ring  up 
Lady  Mclntyre  the  moment  he  got  back. 

Before  he  opened  a  letter,  or  even  took  off  his  hat,  he 
was  listening  to  the  agitated  voice  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wire.  It  begged  him  to  get  a  car  and  motor  out  instantly 
to  Lamborough.  "Without  telling  anybody,  anybody  at 
all,"  that  he  was  coming. 

"  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  Sir  William." 

Sir  William  was  all  right,  and  he  was  n't  to  know. 

"Bad  news  from  the  front,  is  it?  "  he  said  with  that  al 
ready  familiar  turn  of  thought  to  the  unintermitting 
tragedy  across  the  Channel. 

"No,  no.  Jim  was  all  right.  Colin  and  Neil,  too." 
The  distracted  voice  assured  him,  nevertheless,  Mr.  Gavan 
was  urgently,  cruelly  needed  at  Lamborough. 

"  Tell  me  if  anybody  is  hurt,"  he  said  with  sudden  horror 
upon  him. 

"  N —  not  yet,"  came  back  the  astonishiDg  answer. 
146 


THE  MESSENGER  147 

-  Everything  depended  upon  his  getting  there  in  time. 

All  the  way  he  tortured  himself  with  pictures  of  Nan  in 
some  fearful  trouble.  By  whom  else  at  Lamborough  could 
he,  Gavan  Napier,  be  "  cruelly  needed  "  ? 

He  remembered  Julian's  speech  about  her  that  day  of 
her  arrival.  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  faith  in  any  pair  of 
eyes?  It's  pathetic,  a  person  like  that.  Think  of  the 
knocks  she  '11  get." 

He  cursed  the  slowness  of  the  car  that  was  going  fifty 
miles  an  hour. 

"  Nan !     Nan !     I  'm  coming !  " 

For  the  hundredth  time  he  lived  over  those  mirmtes 
among  the  rocks;  that  lightning  stroke  in  the  blood;  the 
astonishment  of  the  two  victims;  the  shame;  the  silent, 
shared,  effort  at  retrieval.  Hardly  two  sentences  had  been 
exchanged  between  them  afterward.  Yet  there  had  been 
no  conscious  abstention  from  the  luxury  of  speech.  A 
bewilderment  possessed  them,  an  aching  too  anguished  not 
to  be  dumb. 

He  had  gone  away  early  the  next  morning  without  seeing 
her  again.  He  had  not  written. 

There  was  no  sign  of  Nan  or  of  any  one  else,  as  Napier 
drove  up  to  the  house  toward  four  o'clock  that  afternoon. 
The  quickening  of  his  pulses  on  the  way  to  the  drawing- 
room  seemed  to  say,  "  She  is  here."  But  the  room  was 
empty.  All  the  house  was  strangely  still,  in  that  brief 
interval  before  word  came  down.  Would  Mr.  Napier  come 
up  to  Lady  Mclntyre's  sitting  room? 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Gavan !  "  As  though  she  were  the  last  sur 
vivor  of  some  huge  disaster,  a  woeful,  haggard  little  lady 


148  THE  MESSENGER 

came  forward  to  greet  him.  "  I  thought  you  'd  never  get 
here.  It  has  been  the  most  dreadful  time."  She  dropped 
among  her  sofa  cushions,  speechless  for  a  moment.  "  Even 
up  there  in  Scotland,"  tacitly  she  reproached  him,  "  you  've 
heard,  I  suppose,  of  the  length  this  spy  mania  has  gone. 
Everybody  with  a  foreign  name  is  suspected.  Any  one 
who  protests,  even  the  most  trusted  official  —  openly  in 
sulted  —  " 

"Oh,  really,  Lady  Mclntyre," —  he  tried  to  enfold  the 
poor  little  lady  in  his  own  reassurance.  "  I  have  n't  heard 
anything  to  suggest  — 

"  Then  you  've  forgotten  how  we  lost  our  dear  good 
Bloom.  That  was  bad  enough.  But  what  has  worried 
William  a  great  deal  more  are  the  questions,  though  they 
are  asked  only  in  private  — '  as  yet  only  in  private,' 
William  says,"  -  -  Lady  Mclntyre  clasped  her  thin  hands  — 
"  questions  about  Greta.  William  has  been  splendid,  so 
has  Julian.  We  have  all  tried  to  make  it  —  "  The  deli 
cate  face  crumpled  suddenly.  It  seemed  to  shrivel  as  the 
picture  of  a  face  might  at  the  touch  of  fire.  The  touch  of 
trouble  —  consolidator  of  the  strong,  disintegrator  of  the 
weak  —  had  found  out  Lady  Mclntyre  in  her  safe  and 
sheltered  place  in  the  world.  She  turned  away  the  quiver 
ing  little  visage  and  went  on :  "  There  have  been  letters. 
Odious  anonymous  letters,"  —  she  brought  her  eyes  back 
to  Napier  again,  the  eyes  of  a  hurt  child  —  "  about  Greta ! 
Poor  William  had  been  getting  horrid  letters  for  a  fort 
night.  He  never  said  a  word  about  them  till  the  wretches 
began  to  write  to  me.  And  the  neighbors  —  no,  you  can't 
think  what  we  've  been  through ! "  The  relief  of  tears 
,  eased  the  strain. 


THE  MESSENGER  149 

"  The  Scotland  Yard  people  —  I  've  only  known  that 
since  Sunday  week  —  they  'd  already  been  to  William. 
With  absolutely  nothing  that  could  be  called  proof.  '  Sus 
picious  circumstances ' — '  a  girl  going  out  to  meet  her 
lover  under  the  rose.'  She  told  William  she  was  going  to 
marry  him  —  Ernst ;  yes.  I  liked  Carl  best  —  such  nice 
teeth.  But  anyway  —  William  —  they  little  knew,  those 
Scotland  Yard  people." 

From  confused  fragments  of  overcolored  speech,  Napier 
gathered  that  the  growing  epidemic  of  fear  and  detestation 
had  only  stiffened  his  chief's  determination  to  protect  the 
stranger  within  his  gate. 

"  You  would  n't  have  called  William  a  patient  man,  now, 
would  you  ?  Well,  you  ought  to  have  heard  how  he  ex 
plained,  argued,  said  all  the  right  things.  You  might  as 
well  suspect  my  daughter  of  being  the  wrong  sort  of  person 
to  live  under  my  roof.  The  lady  in  question  is  one  of  us. 
I  vouch  for  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg." 

Even  the  child  —  even  Meggy  —  came  to  know  that  peo 
ple  looked  askance  at  her  for  having  Greta  at  her  side ! 

Even  Meggy !  Napier  was  ready  to  swear  that  "  the 
child  "  was,  after  Miss  Greta  herself,  by  far  the  best-in 
formed  person  in  the  house.  She  was,  anyway,  according 
to  her  mother,  the  most  indignant.  Meggy  had  made 
common  cause  with  Nan  Ellis  and  Mr.  Grant  in  ridiculing 
and  condemning  the  popular  superstition  that  every  Ger 
man  must  needs  be  an  enemy  of  England.  Napier  heard 
how  those  three  had  redoubled  their  watchful  friendship, 
a  self-constituted  bodyguard  to  keep  Miss  Greta  safe  from 
any  breath  of  discourtesy,  from  so  much  as  a  glance  of 
unworthy  suspicion. 


150  THE  MESSENGER 

A  momentary  comfort  derived  from  the  thought  of  these 
champions  suddenly  failed  Lady  Mclntyre.  The  smooth 
ness  of  her  face  was  broken  again,  as,  again  on  the  brink 
of  tears,  she  remembered  the  villain  of  the  piece.  "The 
local  inspector  —  that  creature  who  made  Greta  go  to 
Newton  Hackett  without  any  tea  —  he  came  again. 
Simply  would  n't  go  till  William  had  seen  him.  I  have  n't 
often  known  William  so  angry.  I  am  afraid  he  was  rude 
to  the  man.  It  never  does  to  be  rude  to  these  people. 
I  've  tried  being  kind  to  him.  I,"  -  —  the  tear-faded  eyes 
lifted  with  a  look  of  conscious  virtue  —  "I  gave  him  all 
William's  best  cigars.  And  still  he  has  n't  given  us  a 
moment's  peace.  Of  course  William  flatly  refused  to  send 
Greta  away.  '  Not  all  the  inspectors  in  England  — ' ' 
Lady  Mclntyre  stiffened  her  slight  back  a  moment  with 
borrowed  resolution.  Only  for  a  moment.  The  next  saw 
her  wavering  forward  with :  "  Then  two  men  came  down 
from  London  to  see  me !  Oh,  Mr.  Gavan,"  — •  she  writhed 
her  locked  fingers  — "  they  won't  go !  " 

"  Won't  go  ?  " 

She  shook  her  ear-rings,  speechless  a  moment.  Then  in 
a  whisper:  "At  the  inn,  since  yesterday.  What  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

All  that  Napier  thought  was  Nan!  Nan!  How  much 
does  she  know?  And  how  is  she  taking  it? 

"  They  must  have  found  out  I  'd  gone  to  give  Boris  and 
Ivan  a  run  on  the  sands.  Greta  and  the  rest  were  up  on 
the  sea-wall.  They  never  dreamed  that  those  two  dreadful 
young  men,  standing  there  as  if  they  were  friends,  pre 
tending  to  admire  the  boar-hounds,  were  secret  service 
people,  sent  down  by  the  Intelligence  Department.  And 


THE  MESSENGER  151 

what  they  were  really  saying  —  at  least  the  one  who  does 
the  talking!  I  was  thinking  only  last  night  while  Julia 
was  brushing  my  hair  —  things  often  come  to  me  like 
that  —  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  could  n't  —  not 
if  I  was  to  be  hanged  for  it  —  I  could  n't  remember  a 
syllable  the  fat  young  man  had  uttered.  It's  my  belief 
he  's  a  deaf  mute.  Well,  the  other  one  said,  if  something 
was  n't  done  at  once,  if  I  did  n't  use  my  great  influence 
with  my  husband  to  have  the  German  lady  sent  out  of 
England,  there  would  be  a  scandal.  Everybody  would  say 
we  had  harbored  a  suspect  after  we  'd  been  warned.  And 
when  he  saw  I  was  n't  going  to  do  what  he  wanted,  what 
do  you  think  he  called  Greta?  A  spy,  who  handed  on  of 
ficial  information  to  the  enemies  of  the  country!  Things 
have  got  out  that  they  blame  poor  Greta  for.  Oh,  is  n't 
it  an  awful  penalty  to  pay  for  her  loyalty  in  sticking  to  us 
as  she  's  done  through  thick  and  thin ! 

"  Well,  these  secret  service  men  —  one  very  worrying 
thing  about  them :  /  don't  know  how  to  treat  such  people ; 
they  seem  to  be  quite  superior  to  their  disgusting  work  — 
well,  they  pretend  that  for  her  sake,  for  Greta's,  I  ought  — 
Heavens  above !  here  they  are  again ! "  Lady  Mclntyre 
collapsed  against  her  cushions,  breathing  heavily  and 
staring  fascinated  at  the  door  opposite  the  one  by  which 
Napier  had  come  in.  Napier,  too,  could  hear  them  now  — 
those  footsteps. 

The  knock  on  the  door  must  have  been  expected  and 
couldn't  have  been  more  discreet,  yet  at  the  sound  Lady 
Mclntyre  lost  her  head.  Instead  of  saying,  "  Come  in !  " 
she  remarked  in  a  smothered  undertone,  "  I  told  Mc- 
Andrews  to  bring  them  up  the  back  stairs." 


153  THE  MESSENGEK 

The  door  opened.  "Mr.  Singleton,  Mr.  Grindley, 
m'lady." 

Two  young  men  came  in.  Well  groomed,  wearing  well- 
creased  trousers,  holding  their  hats  and  walking-sticks. 
Singleton,  taller,  a  year  or  two  the  older,  was  a  well-set-up 
person,  with  dark  mustache,  and  frank,  hazel  eyes. 
"  Where  have  I  seen  the  fellow  ?  "  Napier  asked  himself, 
reading  recognition  in  the  guarded  smile.  They  both 
greeted  the  lady. 

"  Is  n't,  after  all ! "  Lady  Mclntyre  jerked  out  in  a 
confidential  aside  to  Napier,  upon  the  supposed  deaf-mute's 
audible  salutation.  Neither  was  Mr.  Grindley  so  very  fat 
either,  merely  inclined  to  stoutness.  Fair,  slow,  slightly 
bored;  his  prominent,  gray-green  eyes  seemed  gently  to 
seek  vacuity.  Whether  dullard  or  dreamer,  this  was  cer 
tainly  the  last  person  you  would  pick  out  of  a  crowd  for 
the  errand  on  which  he  had  come.  This  plump  young 
man  looked  at  ease,  for  the  reason  that  he  did  n't  care,  or 
had  forgotten  where  he  was ;  the  other  one  seemed  to  be  at 
ease  because  he  had  never,  in  any  place,  been  anything  else. 
During  the  pause,  which  Lady  Mclntyre  found  agitating, 
Mr.  Singleton  stood  there  a  step  in  advance  of  his  com 
panion,  the  hands  that  held  his  hat,  with  gloves  tucked  in 
the  brim,  crossed  on  the  knob  of  his  walking-stick.  And 
suddenly  Napier  remembered.  This  frank-looking  young 
man  with  the  long  chin  had  been  sent  down  from  Oxford 
in  Napier's  first  year.  He  had  done  what  he  could  to 
shield  the  culprit,  though  they  had  never  been  friends. 

Napier  was  the  first  to  move,  after  McAndrews  had  shut 
the  door  behind  him.  It  was  not  mere  restlessness  on 
Napier's  part,  nor  detestation  of  the  business  these  fellows 


THE  MESSENGER  153 

had  come  about.  He  felt  he  must  go  and  look  out  into 
the  front  hall.  If  Nan  were  to  come  in  suddenly  — 

There  was  no  one.  Napier  leaned  against  the  wall, 
standing  where,  through  the  door  ajar,  he  could  command 
the  stairs. 

"  We  heard,"  —  Singleton  in  his  cheerful,  cultivated 
tones  was  saying  to  Lady  Mclntyre  — "  we  heard  the 
gentleman  you  were  waiting  for  had  arrived." 

"  Yes,  but  I  —  I  have  n't  yet  had  time  to  explain." 
That  poor  head,  which  Lady  Mclntyre  had  jerked  to 
Singleton,  she  jerked  now  to  Napier.  "  They  want  me," 
she  told  him,  "  to  search  Greta's  things.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  "  As  Napier  did  n't  at  once  say  what  he 
thought  of  it,  Lady  Mclntyre  flung  out,  "  While  she 's 
away !  " 

Instead  of  denouncing  such  a  demand,  Napier  asked, 
"Where  is  she?" 

"  Oh,  they  've  gone  off  to  see  some  old  church,  or  some 
thing,  on  the  coast." 

"  You  don't  know  where  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  How  can  I  remember  all  the 
places  they  go  to?  A  fresh  one  every  day." 

"  Has  —  a  — "  Napier  caught  his  tongue  back  from 
articulating  "  Nan."  "  They  've  all  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  they  may  be  back  any  moment." 

Napier  seemed  to  read  in  the  easy  confidence  in  Mr. 
Singleton's  eyes  that  he  personally  did  not  look  for  the 
immediate  return  of  the  party.  But  it  occurred  to  Napier 
that  "  the  party  "  meant,  to  the  secret  service  men,  only 
Greta  von  Schwarzenberg.  It  seemed  quite  possible  to 
Napier's  own  fears  that,  by  some  perverse  stroke,  Nan 


154  THE  MESSENGER 

Ellis  might  return  alone.  She  might  even  at  the  last 
moment  —  Fate  did  play  these  tricks  —  have  fallen  out  of 
the  party.  In  one  of  the  rooms  overhead  she  might  be 
meditating  descent.  How  else  could  he  account  for  that 
all-pervading  sense  of  her  presence  which  filled  the  house? 
And  he  was  the  only  one  who  knew  how  much,  how  in 
finitely,  worse  it  would  be  if  Nan  were  to  come  in  and  find 
them —  He  glanced  sharply  through  the  crack  of  the 
door. 

"  I  have  been  explaining,"  —  Mr.  Singleton  seemed  to 
invite  Mr.  Napier's  cooperation  —  "  since  Lady  Mclntyre 
is  so  sure  the  view  held  by  the  Intelligence  Department  is 
mistaken,  that  it's  a  kindness  to  the  young  lady  to  em 
brace  this  opportunity  to  clear  the  matter  up." 

"  Imagine  the  shabbiness  of  such  conduct !  "  Lady  Mc 
lntyre  appealed  to  the  figure  listening  by  the  door.  "  I 
am  to  take  advantage  of  her  absence  to  rummage  among 
her—" 

"  No,  no,"  Mr.  Singleton  protested.  "  You  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  one  and  only  chance  of  proving  her  innocent 
without  hurting  her  feelings.  It  can  either  be  done 
quietly  without  the  least  scandal,  or  be  done  with  a  public 
ity  much  less  considerate.  I  should  say,  if  the  lady  were 
a  friend  of  mine  — " 

"  Yes,  I  've  heard  your  view,"  said  Lady  Mclntyre,  with 
nervous  asperity.  "  It  is  Mr.  Napier's  I  have  waited  for. 
Can  you,"  —  she  stood  up  wavering,  miserable  —  "can 
you  see  me  giving  permission  to  a  strange  man  and  his 
confederate "  —  she  jerked  a  glance  toward  the  silent, 
absent-minded  individual  at  Singleton's  side — "to  break 
open  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  trunk  and — " 


THE  MESSEXGEE  155 

Mr.  Singleton,  wholly  unperturbed,  assured  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre  there  need  be  no  breaking  open.  He  had,  as  she 
said,  "  most  fortunate!}7,  a  — "  —  Mr.  Singleton  smiled 
pleasantly  —  "  an  assistant  who  was  in  his  way  a  genius 
at  avoidance  of  breakage  or  any  sort  of  violence." 

The  fastidiousness  with  which  he  repudiated  "  any  sort 
of  violence  "  plainly  gave  Lady  Mclntyre  pause.  Even  in 
the  thick  of  a  thousand  agitations  it  was  noticeable  how 
great  a  part  was  played  in  the  persuading  of  the  lady  by 
the  voice  and  manner  of  the  agent,  particularly  by  the 
voice.  Its  natural  timbre,  its  accent,  its  curve  and  fall, 
all  connoted  the  moral  decencies,  as  well  as  the  external 
fitness  and  refinements,  of  good  breeding.  If  you  sus 
pected  this  man  of  baseness,  you  simply  gave  away  your 
own  unworthy  thoughts.  The  reticent  dignity  with  which 
he  uttered  the  phrase,  "  for  the  sake  of  the  safety  of  the 
country,"  that  of  itself  seemed  to  range  him  on  the  side  of 
defenders  in  the  field. 

Helplessly,  Lady  Mclntyre  waited  upon  the  guidance 
she  had  sent  for. 

"  Have  you  had  official  warning  of  this  visit  ?  "  Napier 
asked  her. 

"  No." 

"  There  are  reasons,"  Mr.  Singleton  reminded  him,  "  as 
you  must  see,  why  a  warning  would  defeat  the  purpose  of 
the  visit." 

"  You  have  a  warrant  for  this  search  ?  " 

He  had.  He  produced  it.  An  order  under  the  Official 
Secrets'  Act.  "  If  a  mistake  has  been  made,  Mr.  Grindley 
and  I,"  he  said,  as  he  returned  the  document  to  his  inside 
pocket,  "  can  assure  ourselves  of  the  fact  and  be  out  of 


156  THE  MESSENGEK 

the  house  in  half  an  hour.  Unless  Lady  Mclntyre  should, 
unhappily,  be  too  long  in  making  up  her  mind,"  —  he 
glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece — "neither  the 
German  lady  nor  any  one  outside  this  room  and  the  In 
telligence  Department  will  ever  know  of  the  investigation. 
Isn't  that  better  than  the  alternative?  — having  it  con 
ducted  in  public  ?  " 

The  bribe  was  great,  yet  great  was  poor  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre's  misgiving.  Men  of  another  class  would  have 
stood  no  chance  of  overcoming  her  scruples.  Oh,  the  In 
telligence  Department  was  not  so  blundering  as  some  would 
have  us  believe,  since  upon  a  presumably  very  minor  case 
it  could  expend  this  patience  and  finesse. 

Lady  Mclntyre  fluttered  to  the  guarded  door.  "  I 
could  n't  let  them  do  it  with  no  one  here."  She  clung  an 
instant  to  Napier's  arm. 

He  and  Singleton  glanced  up  and  down  corridor  and 
stair,  as  the  three  men  followed  Lady  Mclntyre's  lead  into 
a  room  at  the  end  of  a  passage. 

The  first  thing  noticeable  about  the  little  room  was  its 
air  of  distinction,  bred  only  in  part  by  the  taste  shown  in 
the  choice  of  certain  articles  of  furniture,  culled,  Napier 
was  sure,  from  other  parts  of  the  house  during  that  week 
Miss  Greta  had  spent  alone  here.  Not  her  knowledge  of 
values  in  Moleln  alone,  but  something  less  obvious,  in  the 
serene,  uncrowded  aspect,  in  the  exquisite  orderliness,  lent 
the  little  room  its  special  air. 

Singleton  walked  straight  to  the  window.  It  com 
manded  the  approach  to  the  house  and  looked  upon  the 
sea.  It  was  n't  till  a  moment  later  that  Napier  verified 
this  fact.  On  the  dressing-table,  which  stood  out  two  feet 


THE  MESSENGER  157 

or  so  in  front  of  the  window,  his  eyes  had  found  a  faded 
photograph.  It  showed  a  girl  in  her  teens  at  another 
window.  Two  long  plaits  fell  over  the  sill  as  the  eager 
figure  leaned  out  to  greet,  with  all  that  joy  and  affection, 
the  woman  whom  Napier  was  here  to  convict  of  felony 
and  to  cover  with  disgrace.  No  need  of  the  signature  un 
der  the  sill  to  say  the  girl  was  "  Miss  Greta's  ever  loving 
Nan. " 

That  first  cursory  glance  about  the  room  had  seemed 
both  to  please  and  intrigue  Singleton.  His  face  wore 
the  look  of  intentness,  of  subdued  satisfaction,  with  which 
your  sportsman  addresses  himself  to  a  game  he  knows  he 's 
good  at. 

"He  likes  ferreting  things  out!  He  likes  it!" 
Napier  said  to  himself,  as  Singleton  swung  back  with  one 
of  his  easy  movements  and  turned  the  key  in  the  door. 

"  What  will  Greta  think  when  she  tries  it  and  finds  it 
locked,  and  me  in  here ! "  Lady  Mclntyre  bemoaned  to 
Napier. 

"  Oh,  but  she  won't,"  answered  Singleton.  He  nodded 
toward  the  window.  "  You  '11  see  her  coming."  He  laid 
down  hat,  stick,  and  gloves  on  the  small  table  by  the  bed, 
and  picked  up  a  book  lying  there.  He  read  aloud  the  title, 
"  Tilgerfahrt  by  Gerhard,"  for  Grindley's  benefit,  appar 
ently,  for  he  looked  at  that  person  interrogatively.  "  With 
Nan's  love,"  he  added,  as  though  that  might  fetch  Grind- 
ley. 

But  Grindley  seemed  to  have  neither  literary  nor  senti 
mental  curiosity.  By  the  tall  gilt  screen  set  against  the 
angle  of  the  opposite  wall  Grindley  halted,  as  if  he  had 
forgotten  why  he  was  there  and  felt  unequal  to  the  mental 


158  THE  MESSENGER 

effort  of  recalling.  You  'd  say  he  no  more  realized  that 
the  leaves  of  the  screen  were  turned  back  so  as  almost  to 
meet  the  angle  described  by  the  wall,  than  that  the  panels 
were  composed  of  exquisite  engravings  after  Fragonard, 
set  in  old  gilt.  Even  when  he  moved  a  pace  or  two,  you 
would  say  that  he  was  speculating  whereabouts  in  a  room 
so  scantily,  albeit  so  charmingly,  furnished  as  to  boast  only 
a  single  chair,  should  he  find  a  place  whereon  to  lay  hat 
and  stick,  and  the  small  despatch-case  of  the  same  color 
as  the  brown  clothes  he  wore.  Whether  for  that  reason, 
or  because  of  the  inconspicuous  way  in  which  it  was  car 
ried,  Napier  had  not  noticed  the  case  till  Grindley  set  it 
down  against  the  skirting  of  the  wall,  along  with  hat  and 
stick. 

For  those  first  moments,  glued  to  the  window,  Lady 
Mclntyre  alternately  watched  the  avenue  leading  to  the 
house  and  watched  the  two  strange  men.  She  made  no 
effort  to  disguise  her  perturbation  at  not  having  two  pairs 
of  eyes,  the  better  to  keep  her  poor  little  watch  upon  "  dear 
Greta's  things."  "  You  don't,  I  suppose,  expect  to  find 
anything  contraband  on  her  dressing-table,"  she  said,  as 
Singleton  paused  to  run  his  eye  over  the  glittering  array. 
"  You  may  know  that 's  all  right  when  I  tell  you  Sir  Wil 
liam  and  I  gave  her  the  toilet  set-  last  Christmas." 

Singleton  stooped  to  the  faded  photograph,  an  act  as 
offensive  in  Napier's  eyes  as  the  next  was  in  Lady  Mcln- 
tyre's  —  his  attempt  to  open  the  little,  inlaid  bureau. 

"  That  is  her  writing-table,"  said  the  lady,  with  dignity. 
"  Of  course  it 's  locked.  An  engaged  girl  always  locks 
her  — " 

"Yes;  this,  Grindley,"  Singleton  said.     And  Grindley, 


THE  MESSENGER  159 

moving  like  a  soft  brown  shadow,  was  there  with  some  bits 
of  iron  hanging  keywise  on  a  ring.  Some  of  these  slender 
"  persuaders  "  were  notched  and  some  were  hooked.  There 
were  also  one  or  two  pieces  of  wire. 

Lady  Mclntyre  identified  these  objects  instantly  in  a 
horrified  whisper  as,  "  Burglar's  tools !  " 

"  Or  that,  first  ?  "  Singleton  interrupted,  with  a  nod  at 
the  screen. 

"  Yes,  it 's  her  box  behind  there,"  Lady  Mclntyre  said, 
and  clasped  her  hands.  "  But  if  you  break  that  —  a  most 
queer  lock  —  you  can  never  mend  it.  And  she  '11  know 
what  we  've  — " 

Mr.  Grindley  gave  a  slow  head-shake.  "  American 
wardrobe  trunk,"  he  said,  as  though  he  had  been  tall  enough 
to  see  over  the  close-set  screen,  and  took  no  interest  in 
what  it  hid.  He  inserted  a  steel  object  in  the  lock  of  the 
writing-table,  and  opened  a  flap  as  easily  as  if  he  'd  had  the 
key;  more  easily  than  if  Lady  Mclntyre  had  had  it. 

"  Her  private  letters ! "  she  murmured  with  horror. 
"  Love  letters !  " 

Far  more  offensive,  Napier  was  sure,  than  if  Grindley 
had  fallen  upon  the  neat  packets  and  loose  papers  with 
greedy  curiosity,  was  the  bored  cursoriness,  as  it  looked,  of 
the  inspection.  Perhaps  the  other  man  was  really  going 
to  read  them  through  when  he  had  —  heavens  above ! 
What  was  he  doing  in  Greta's  cupboard  ? 

"  Disgraceful ! "  said  Lady  Mclntyre  under  her  breath. 
Singleton  was  passing  his  hands  along  the  row  of  skirts 
neatly  hung  at  the  side.  The  investigating  fingers  reached 
those  other  garments  suspended  at  a  greater  height.  From 
supports,  hooked  upon  a  bar  set  overhead,  depended  after- 


160  THE  MESSENGER 

noon  and  evening  gowns  —  the  pink  cotton,  the  black  and 
gold,  the  lemon-colored  —  all  of  familiar  aspect,  and  yet 
in  this  collapsed  state  odd-looking,  defenseless,  taken  at 
disadvantage.  Napier  with  some  difficulty  recognized  the 
apple-green  silk,  all  its  sauciness  gone,  as  dejected  now 
as  a  deflated  balloon.  And  this  stranger's  hand  upon 
them! 

"  Disgusting  familiarity,  7  call  it.  He  '11  be  feeling  in 
her  pockets  next,"  Lady  Mclntyre  whispered  tremulously. 
"  I  don't  know  how  I  can  bear  to  be  here." 

Napier  himself  was  too  aware  of  a  Peeping-Tom  un 
seemliness  in  looking  in  upon  these  privacies  to  stand 
there  watching.  He  turned  again  to  the  glittering  dress 
ing-table  and  the  treasure  it  enshrined.  What  would  n't 
he  give  to  be  able  to  slip  that  photograph  in  his  pocket? 
Nan  looked  at  him  out  of  her  window  with  unsullied  trust. 

Napier  glanced  nervously  out  of  the  other,  the  window 
behind  the  dressing-table.  While  he  had  been  watching 
Singleton  and  looking  at  the  pictured  face,  Nan  might 
easily  have  come  into  the  house;  for  Lady  Mclntyre,  too, 
had  clean  forgotten  that  side  of  her  sentinelship. 

Napier  turned  round,  so  palpably  listening,  that  even 
Lady  Mclntyre  in  the  midst  of  her  agitations  saw  what 
must  be  in  his  mind. 

"  Yes,  any  moment  they  '11  be  in  upon  us !  "  She  fled 
again  to  the  window. 

"  Grindley,  here !  "  Singleton  called  from  the  cupboard. 

But  Grindley  had  found  something,  at  last,  which, 
though  it  seemed  not  to  interest  him,  had  proved  itself 
worthy  to  be  abstracted.  Not  one  of  the  love-letters,  as 
Lady  Mclntyre  plainly  feared.  It  was  nothing  more  ex- 


THE  MESSENGER  161 

citing  than  Greta's  French  dictionary.  Grindley  came 
away  from  the  littered  bureau,  holding  the  flat  volume  open 
in  his  hand,  and  turning  the  leaves  at  random. 

Singleton  joined  him.     "  What  have  you  got  there?  " 

"  La  Motte's  Dictionary." 

"Is  that  all?"  Singleton  dismissed  it. 

Not  so  Grindley.  He  stooped,  and  laid  the  book  oil  the 
floor  beside  his  brown  case. 

Singleton  was  obviously  disappointed.  He  glanced  back 
at  the  open  writing-table.  "  Nothing  else  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Only  this,"  Grindley  took  a  ball-nibbed  pen  out  of  the 
tray. 

Singleton  examined  it  carefully,  "Yes."  He,  too,  ap 
peared  to  think  the  pen  worthy  of  all  care.  He  opened 
Grindley's  nearly  empty  attache  case  and  laid  the  pen  on 
top  of  a  piece  of  brown  paper,  which  covered  something 
at  the  bottom.  "  And  the  ink  ? "  He  seemed  to  wait 
for  it. 

Grindley  was  understood  to  say,  "  Not  yet."  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre  pointed  out  the  twin  pots  on  the  silver  tray  en 
graved  G.  v.  S.  from  N.  E.  Christmas  1913.  "  This  is  the 
ink,"  she  said.  Nobody  seemed  to  hear.  Grindley  had 
gone  to  the  dressing-table,  leaving  behind  him  open  draw 
ers  and  Greta's  papers  in  confusion. 

Lady  Mclntyre  followed.  "I  must  trouble  you."  she 
said,  with  dignity,  "  to  put  the  writing-table  as  you  found 
it." 

"  It  is  n't  necessary,"  murmured  the  outrageous  Grind- 
ley. 

"  But  that  is  monstrous !  You  promised  —  at  least,  the 
other  one — "  She  looked  round.  The  other  one,  lost  to 


162  THE  MESSENGER 

view,  was  pursuing  his  nefarious  course  in  the  hanging 
cupboard. 

"  You  heard  him,  Mr.  Napier  ?  "  She  spoke  with  tremu 
lous  bitterness. 

"  If  I  let  them  investigate  quietly,  no  one  need  ever 
know." 

"  Yes,  if  we  found  we  were  mistaken," —  Singleton  stuck 
his  head  out  of  the  cupboard  to  say.  "  But,  you  see,  we 
find  we  are  not  mistaken."  He  disappeared  amongst  folds 
of  apple-green  silk  and  lemon  chiffon. 

"  Not  mistaken  !  "  cried  Lady  Mclntyre. 

"  What  have  you  discovered  ?  "  Napier  called  to  Single 
ton. 

It  was  Grindley,  ludicrously  inadequate,  who  answered, 
"  The  pen." 

Lady  Mclntyre  ran  to  the  open  attache  case  and  took  it 
out.  Grindley,  at  the  dressing-table,  fingering  Greta's 
toilet-set,  kept  a  vacant  eye  on  Lady  Mclntyre. 

"  What  could  be  more  innocent  than  a  perfectly  new 
pen  ?  Look,  Mr.  Napier.  It 's  never  been  used,  not  even 
once !  "  She  thrust  the  pen  into  Napier's  hand. 

"  Look  at  the  point,"  advised  Grindley. 

"  Well,  look  at  it.  Perfectly  clean.  If  it  matters," 
Lady  Mclntyre  said,  "  that  pen  has  never  touched  ink. 
And  how  can  you  write  with  a  pen  if  you  don't  write  with 
ink?" 

"  We  might  —  ask  the  lady,"  suggested  Grindley,  who 
was  actually  opening  and  unscrewing  Greta's  silver  toilet 
things,  holding  bottles  up  to  the  light,  smelling  at  corks 
and  stoppers.  He  slipped  out  of  its  silver  shell  a  small 


THE  MESSENGER  163 

bottle  of  thick  blue  glass.  He  uncorked  it  and  applied  it 
gingerly  to  his  nose. 

"  This  is  it,"  he  said. 

Lady  Mclntyre,  with  the  dive  of  a  dragon-fly,  was  at 
his  side.  "  You  think  because  that 's  labelled  '  Poison/ 
there 's  something  suspicious  about  her  having  it.  It 
just  shows!  That  bottle  is  part  of  the  manicure  set. 
Read  what  it  says  above  the  label,"  she  commanded. 

"Pour  les  angles,"  the  obliging  young  man  pronounced 
with  impeccable  accent.  "  Yes."  And  he  took  the  bottle 
over  to  the  attache  case. 

Lady  Mclntyre  made  a  motion  to  arrest,  to  retrieve.  As 
Napier  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm,  trembling,  she  stood  still. 

"  We  must  let  them  go  through  with  it,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him.  With  an  effort  Napier  could  only 
partly  gage.  Lady  Mclntyre  recovered  herself.  "  Go 
through  with  it  ?  Of  —  of  course.  How  else," —  she 
flicked  her  ear-rings  with  her  drawing-room  air  — "  how 
else  could  we  convince  them  ?  " 

Singleton,  with  some  display  of  muscle,  had  dragged  out 
from  behind  the  pendent  draperies  a  square,  canvas  box. 

"  Ah,  that," —  Lady  Mclntyre  went  forward,  maintain 
ing  valiantly  the  recovered,  drawing-room  manner  — "  that 
is  her  hat-box.  What  they  can  want  with  her  hat-box !  " 
She  tried  to  smile  at  Napier. 

"  Heavy  for  hats,"  remarked  Singleton,  in  a  tone  of  sub 
dued  pleasure.  The  box  was  furnished  not  only  with  the 
usual  leather  handle  on  the  top,  but  with  one  on  each  side. 
To  the  top  handle  the  label  was  still  tied.  It  bore  across 
the  upper  end  the  printed  legend, 


164  THE  MESSENGER 

From  Sir  William  Mclntyre, 
Kirklamont. 

and  underneath  the  familiar  hand  had  set : 

Von  Schwarzenberg. 

Below,  in  plain  large  capitals  that  caught  the  eye, 
BOOTS 

"Oh,  that's  why  it's  heavier  than  hats."  Lady  Mc 
lntyre  held  the  label  so  all  could  see. 

"  It 's  heavy  for  boots,"  remarked  Singleton.  Grindley 
had  sunk  down  on  his  haunches. 

"  This  is  it,"  he  said. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  Napier  asked. 

"  The  lock,"  answered  Grindley,  picking  over  his  hooks 
and  twisted  wires.  He  worked  for  some  moments  in  his 
customary  silence.  Singleton  strolled  about,  opening 
books. 

"  From  Nan.  From  Nan.  She  might  almost  as  well 
have  had  a  stamp  made." 

Back  to  the  lock-picking  figure  Napier's  eyes  came,  from 
praying  pardon  of  the  girl  with  the  plaits  leaning  out  of 
the  window.  "  Shame !  "  the  girl  cried. 

"  A  case  for  cold  chisel  ?  "  Singleton  inquired,  looking  up 
from  the  libretto  of  Eosenkavalier.  No  answer  from 
Grindley,  but  he  put  out  his  hand  and  felt  under  the  cor 
rugated  paper  in  the  attache  case.  The  hand  came  out 
with  a  chisel  and  a  hammer. 


THE  MESSENGER  165 

"  No  I  no !  "  cried  Lady  Mclntyre  on  a  note  of  firmness 
new  to  Napier's  ears.  "  You  said  '  no  forcing  open.'  " 

"  Unless  we  knew  we  were  justified,"  amended  Single 
ton.  "  We  know  now." 

"You  can't  know." 

"  We  have  found  enough  to  explain." 

"  Enough  to  explain  what  ?  " 

"  Why  we  are  here.     And  why  she  should  n't  be." 

Lady  Mclntyre  turned,  quivering,  to  Napier.  "  You 
know,  don't  you." 

"  I  'm  afraid," —  Napier  interrupted  — "  what  I  know 
would  n't  help  Miss  Greta." 

"  What  do  you  mean!  " —  her  voice  was  hysterical.  "  Oh, 
everybody 's  mad !  " 

As  the  hammer  was  raised,  Lady  Mclntyre  flung  out 
her  hand  toward  the  top  of  the  chisel.  Grindley,  his 
shoulder  against  the  box,  pushed  it  a  trifle  to  the  left,  and 
down  fell  the  hammer  in  a  resounding  stroke.  The  lady 
wrung  ineffectual  fingers,  as  though  they  had  succeeded  in 
taking  the  blow  aimed  at  Greta's  lock.  "  Never,  never  shall 
I  forgive  myself !  If  she  were  to  come  in  while  we  are  at 
this  horrible  business  — " 

"  She  won't."  But  as  it  now  struck  Napier,  Singleton 
hadn't  once  glanced  out  of  the  window. 

Blow  upon  blow,  till  the  lock  fell  to  the  floor.  Grindley 
raised  the  lid.  He  said  nothing,  uttered  no  sound,  but  he 
smiled  for  the  first  and  only  time.  A  sheet  of  dull  silvery 
metal  had  met  his  eye  —  the  top  of  an  inner  box. 

Lady  Mclntyre  sat  down  in  the  solitary  chair,  as  though 
her  legs  had  suddenly  given  way. 


166  THE  MESSENGER 

By  its  two  steel  handles,  which  had  fitted  neatly  into 
felt-lined  sockets  in  the  cane-and-canvas  top,  Grindley  and 
Singleton  lifted  out  the  metal  box.  They  laid  it  on  its 
front.  With  those  short,  vicious  hammer-strokes  that 
seemed  to  shake  the  house,  Grindley  cut  the  hinges  through. 
He  and  Singleton  set  the  box  upright  and  forced  back  the 
top. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AFTEE  the  first  moment  of  stupefaction,  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre's,  "Oh  —  a  —  is  that  all  ?  "  resolutely  pro 
claimed  there  was  nothing  out  of  the  way  in  a  governess 
having   a   box   half   full   of  ...  books   chiefly,    weren't 
they? 

The  first  thing  Grindley  took  out  was  a  roll  of  tracing- 
paper.  He  undid  it.  He  smoothed  it  flat.  He  turned  it 
over.  He  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"  Nothing !     Not  a  thing !  "  breathed  the  lady. 

Three  pairs  of  eyes  had  fallen  simultaneously  on  a  let 
ter  which  had  been  underneath  the  roll  of  paper  —  a  letter 
unaddressed,  in  a  sealed  envelope.  Grindley  opened  it. 
Singleton  leaned  over  to  read  it,  too.  All  that  Napier 
could  see  was  that  the  communication  appeared  to  be  in 
German  script,  not  written  compactly,  as  the  national  in 
stinct  for  economy  seems  to  inculcate.  The  lines  were 
wide  apart.  Grindley's  thick  finger,  traversing  the  blank 
space,  seemed  to  emphasize  this  fact. 

"  Nothing  there,"  said  Singleton,  dipping  his  hand  in 
the  box  again. 

"  Nothing  that  jumps  to  the  eye."  Grindley  laid  letter 
and  envelope  on  the  floor  by  the  tracing-paper.  Out  of  a 
shallow  cardboard  box,  full  of  numbered  films,  Singleton 
had  briskly  helped  himself  to  one  after  another.  He  held 
each  in  turn  up  to  the  light  —  held  the  first  two  so  that 
Grindley  could  see  them. 

167 


168  THE  MESSENGER 

'"  To  keep  such  things !  It 's  the  kind  of  extraordinarily 
rash  things  they  do."  A  look  of  understanding  passed  be 
tween  the  two  secret-service  men. 

"  They  ?  "  inquired  Lady  Mclntyre,  and  as  no  one  an 
swered,  "  Eash  ?  "  She  turned  her  helpless  eyes  on  Napier. 
"  What  a  world  to  live  in,  when  to  take  a  little  picnic  snap 
shots  is  '  rash  ' !  " 

"  You  have  a  dark  room  ?  She  develops  her  own  photo 
graphs  ?  " 

Lady  Mclntyre  swung  her  ear-rings. 

While  Singleton  was  running  rapidly  through  the  picture 
series,  Grindley  took  out  a  book  —  a  leather-covered  book, 
with  a  lock. 

"  A  diary,  that  is,  just  like  mine,"  said  Lady  Mclntyre. 
"  Her  diary  had  a  lock,  too,"  she  said.  But  the  fact  did 
not  save  this  one  from  desecration.  Off  came  the  lock  at 
the  edge  of  the  chisel,  and  Grindley  was  bending  his  head 
over  pages  of  exquisite  writing.  That  it  was  German, 
seemed  in  no  wise  to  disconcert  Grindley.  "  Plain  sail 
ing,"  was  his  comment  as  he  handed  the  book  over  to  Sin 
gleton,  who,  with  a  kind  of  affectionate  regret,  put  down 
the  two  films  he  had  been  studying  side  by  side.  "  Very 
instructive,  seen  seriatim,"  he  remarked,  as  he  swept  them 
toward  the  case,  and  took  the  diary. 

Whether  it  was  a  fellow  feeling  for  this  private  chronicle 
with  the  lock  like  hers,  yet  so  ineffectual,  certainly  the 
sight  of  Greta's  diary  being  passed  from  one  strange  hand 
to  another  made  a  sudden  breach  in  Lady  Mclntyre'vS 
hard-won  self-control. 

"  How  you  can! "  She  leaned  forward  to  cast  the  three 
words  into  the  dull  face  again  over  Greta's  box.  Grind- 


THE  MESSENGER  169 

ley's  hand  was  about  to  close  upon  a  little  gray  silk  bag 
which  had  fallen  out  of  an  envelope.  Lady  Mclntyre  was 
before  him. 

"  I  '11  see  what  that  is  !  "  she  said. 

Napier  winced  in  anticipation  of  the  undignified  strug 
gle  to  which  Lady  Mclntyre's  action  had  laid  her  open. 

But  not  at  all.  Grindley's  good  manners  suffered  him  to 
make  only  the  most  civil  protest. 

"  I  would  n't,  really.     Please,  take  care  !  " 

Too  late.  Lady  Mclntyre  had  untied  the  drawstring 
and  opened  the  innocent-looking,  feminine  thing,  only  to 
draw  back,  choking.  Then  she  sneezed  loudly.  She 
sneezed  without  intermission,  as  she  held  the  bag  out  at 
arm's  length. 

"  Wha-atchew !     What-atchew  —  is  it  ?     Chew !  " 

Grindley,  handling  the  bag  with  caution,  returned  it  to 
the  thick  waxed  envelope  and  added  that  to  his  collection. 
Singleton  had  looked  up  an  instant  from  his  reading,  sym 
pathy  in  his  attitude,  a  gleam  of  entertainment  in  his 
eye  at  recognition  of  this  new  object  lesson  in  the  unad- 
visability  of  a  lady's  poking  her  nose  where  a  secret-service 
man  warns  her  not  to. 

Napier  stood  anxiously  over  Lady  Mclntyre  during  the 
final  paroxysm. 

"  What  was  that  stuff  ?  "  he  demanded  of  the  oblivious 
Grindley. 

"  Usually  snuff  and  cayenne,"  Singleton  answered  for 
him.  "  Harmless,  unless  it 's  flung  into  the  eyes." 

"Flung  in!"  gasped  Lady  Mclntyre,  receiving,  as  it 
were,  full  in  the  face  her  first  staggering  suspicion. 

"  If  you  get  only  a  whiff,  the  thing  to  do  is  to  gargle  and 


170  THE  MESSENGER 

bathe  the  eyes,"  Singleton  advised  politely,  and  fell  upon 
his  book  again,  like  some  intrigued  reader  of  romance. 

Lady  Mclntyre  declined  to  go  away  to  bathe  and  gargle. 
She  sat  wiping  her  streaming  eyes  and  letting  loose  an 
occasional  sneeze. 

There  still  remained  in  the  boot  box,  as  Napier  had  seen, 
two  modest-sized  receptacles  to  be  examined.  One  was 
of  nickel  or  silver;  the  other,  a  trifle  larger,  appeared,  as 
Grindley  lifted  it  out,  to  be  an  ordinary  japanned  cash-box, 
with  the  key  sticking  in  the  lock. 

"  Achew  !  chew !  chew !  "  said  Lady  Mclntyre,  trying  to 
clear  her  watery  vision,  the  better  to  verify  the  fact  that 
the  box  was  full  of  English  gold  —  most  of  it  done  up  in 
amateur  rouleaux  of  twenty  pounds  each,  sealed  at  each 
end. 

Surprising,  but  not  criminal,  Lady  Mclntyre's  inflamed 
face  seemed  to  say.  "  Maybe,"  she  wedged  the  words  in 
between  a  couple  of  less  violent  sneezes;  already  she  was 
steadying  herself  after  the  shock  of  knowing  that  gray  bag 
of  devilment  in  Greta's  possession  — "  maybe  she  is  cus 
todian  —  others' —  savings  —  some  refugee." 

Grindley  had  tumbled  the  rouleaux  and  the  loose  gold 
into  his  handkerchief.  He  knotted  it  and  threw  it  into  his 
case. 

"  I  shall  tell  her ! "  Lady  Mclntyre's  still  streaming 
eyes  arraigned  him.  "  She  shall  know  you  've  got  it." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Grindley. 

"And  now  for  the  jewel  case."  Reluctantly  Singleton 
closed  the  diary. 

But  it  was  n't  a  jewel  case.  No  close  observer  needed 
Singleton's,  "  This  is  what  you  were  looking  for,"  to  recog- 


THE  MESSENGER  171 

nize  Grindley's  satisfaction  at  discovering  a  spirit  lamp 
and  alcohol  flask  fitted  neatly  into  the  box. 

"  It 's  to  heat  curling-tongs,"  said  Lady  Mclntyre  in  her 
rasped  and  clouded  voice.  "  That 's  all  it  is.  Nothing  in 
this  world  but  the  arrangement  to  heat  her  tongs.  Every 
woman  — " 

"  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  does  n't  curl  her  hair  with 
tongs,"  said  the  astonishing  Grindley,  a  man  you  would  n't 
have  expected  to  know  if  a  woman's  hair  were  green  and 
dressed  in  pot-hooks. 

"  How  do  you  know  she  does  n't  use  tongs  ?  "  Napier 
could  not  forbear  asking.  Grindley,  working  with  the 
lamp,  made  no  reply. 

"  Do  we  understand  you  to  say  she  does  curl  her  hair 
with  tongs  ?  "  Singleton  inquired  politely  of  Lady  Mcln 
tyre.  It  was  clear  to  the  pair  that  part  of  Singleton's  af 
fair  was  to  transact  his  business  with  as  little  friction  as 
possible,  to  establish  cooperation  in  the  most  unlikely  quar 
ters.  "  You  can't  say  she  uses  tongs,"  he  said  persuasively. 

"  I  certainly  cannot  say  she  does  n't.  Neither  can  you." 
Lady  Mclntyre  stuck  to  her  point  as  if  she  knew  what 
hung  upon  it. 

Grindley  had  unscrewed  the  wick  cap.  If  she  didn't 
use  tongs,  certainly  she  had  used  the  lamp;  the  wick  was 
charred.  He  lifted  out  the  receiver  and  shook  it.  "  Nearly 
full,"  he  said. 

Singleton  was  rapidly  going  through  the  few  things  left 
in  the  bottom  of  the  safe.  Several  leather  jewel  cases. 
They  revealed  a  truly  astonishing  store  —  chiefly  diamonds. 

"  She  can  have  these  back  at  once,"  Singleton  said,  set 
ting  the  cases  down  by  Lady  Mclntyre's  feet. 


172  THE  MESSENGER 

Grindley  still  hung  over  the  alcohol  lamp.  He  had 
found  narrow  metal  bands  folded  down  at  the  sides  of 
the  box.  They  were  supports,  as  he  proved  by  setting  them 
upright,  and  in  relation  to  yet  others,  with  which  they 
formed  an  overhead  platform  above  that  wired  bed,  which 
was  so  much  more  extensive  than  was  necessary  to  supply 
the  flame  for  the  heating  of  tongs.  But  Grindley  seemed 
to  find  no  flaw  in  the  arrangement.  He  made  libation  oi' 
alcohol,  and  felt  for  a  match.  As  the  wavering  blue  flame 
played  along  the  wire  mattress  under  the  tester-like  frame, 
Grindley  put  out  a  hand  for  the  tracing-paper. 

The  conviction  flashed  across  Napier's  mind,  bringing 
with  it  a  twinge  of  acute  distaste:  Grindley's  enjoying 
himself.  Not  that  the  vacant  eyes  achieved  vision,  nor  the 
blunt  features  keenness.  But  Grindley  was  given  up  to  a 
pleasureable  absorption;  an  intentness  that  should  not  — 
considering  his  task  —  and  yet  somehow  did  insist  on 
seeming  less  of  the  intellect  than  of  the  sensory  nerves. 
It  was  the  same  look  you  will  see  on  the  face  of  the  heavy 
feeder.  A  slight  congestion;  a  gloss,  as  of  a  faint  perspira 
tion.  Napier  was  sure  that,  apart  from  Grindley's  pro 
fessional  stake  in  the  issue  of  the  hour,  he  was  living 
through  highly  compensatory  moments,  as  he  watched  the 
heat  bringing  out  marks  in  the  tracing  paper.  Very  slowly 
the  faint  lines  blackened.  .  .  .  Grindley  showed  no  impa 
tience;  nothing  but  that  gloating,  with  its  suggestion  of 
sensual  abandonment.  During  those  moments  of  waiting. 
Napier  struggled  against  the  injustice  of  his  impression. 
What,  after  all,  were  they  looking  on  at?  Wasn't  Grind- 
ley's  satisfaction  the  same  in  its  lesser  degree  as  that  Cham- 
pollion  felt  when  he  forced  the  Rosetta  Stone  to  yield  the 


THE  MESSENGER  173 

key  to  Egyptian  hieroglyphics?  Champollion  used  his  wits 
to  serve  the  ends  of  learning.  Grindley  was  using  his  to 
serve  his  country.  Why,  then,  did  one  feel  a  horrihle  kind 
of  guilty  excitement  rather  than  honorable  pride,  as  the 
heat  of  Grindley's  lamp  brought  out  clean  and  clear  an 
outline  drawing  to  scale  of  a  new  system  of  fortification 
on  the  northern  coast? 

Napier  could  hardly  repress  an  explosion  of  consterna 
tion  at  the  sight.  But  the  only  audible  sound,  except  a 
crackling  of  the  tracing-paper,  as  Grindley  held  it  up,  was 
Lady  Mclntyre's  bewildered,  "  What  do  you  call  that  ?  " 

Grindley  had  thrown  it  down  for  Singleton  to  deal  with, 
and  now  the  unaddressed  letter  was  being  laid  on  the  grille. 
Here  for  some  reason  the  invisible  ink  answered  less  re 
luctantly  to  the  warmth  of  the  blue  names'  invitation. 
Between  the  wide-apart  lines  appeared  like  magic  the  sec 
ond  letter.  Again  that  stillness,  a  kind  of  drunkenness  of 
pleasure  on  Grindley's  part;  again  Singleton's  quick  re 
action  to  success;  again,  the  instant  the  lamp  had  done  the 
work,  its  abandonment  by  Grindley.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  I  suppose  we  must  n't  go  without  — "  He 
moved  toward  the  screen. 

Lady  Mclntyre  had  made  no  effort  to  read  a  syllable  of 
the  new  writing.  She  sat  intensely  quiet,  while  Singleton 
folded  the  letter  and  blew  out  the  lamp.  All  her  exclama 
tory  speech,  all  her  fluttering  motions,  were  as  stilled  as 
death  would  one  day  leave  them.  It  was  like  the  rest  one 
takes  after  a  prodigious  journey.  The  distance  traversed 
since  the  hat-box  had  been  wrenched  open  was  made  as  clear 
as  though  the  last  object  in  the  box  had  been  yet  another 
lamp  shedding  an  intenser  ray.  Singleton  had  brought 


174  THE  MESSENGER 

out  something  rolled  in  a  scarf  of  Roman  silk.  The  two 
objects  inside  were  a  small  box  of  cartridges  and  a  re 
volver.  It  was  then  that  Lady  Mclntyre,  rising  and  steady 
ing  herself  by  the  chair,  showed  how  far  she  had  come  in 
these  last  moments.  "  At  all  events,  you  can't  say  you  've 
found  any  bombs !  " 

"  No !  oh,  no !  "  If  anything  could  minimize  the  im 
plications  of  tragedy  evoked  by  the  sight  of  a  revolver 
among  the  personal  possessions  of  a  lady  in  England,  it 
would  be  the  even  pleasantness  of  Mr.  Singleton's  voice. 
"  Nothing  of  that  sort." 

Singleton  was  busy  putting  away  a  medley  of  things 
into  the  attache  case,  while  Grindley  was  churning  up  the 
contents  of  the  drawers  in  the  American  wardrobe  trunk 
with  the  energy  that  seemed  so  nearly  passive  and  was  so 
uncannily  effectual.  The  great  trunk  held  no  papers  and 
only  the  lesser  trinkets.  But  the  store  of  purple  and  fine 
linen !  Lace  and  lawn,  and  cobweb  silk,  dribbled  from 
half-open  drawers.  Brocade  and  cloth,  chiffon  and  velvet, 
swung  out  to  view  on  adjustable  supports.  And  all  that 
brave  show  the  unappreciative  Grindley  dismissed  with  a 
single  word,  "  Nothing,"  and  back  he  went  to  La  Motte's 
Dictionary. 

Singleton  picked  up  the  jewels  that  had  come  out  of 
the  hat-box  and  held  the  cases  out  to  Lady  Mclntyre. 

She  seemed,  as  she  stood  there  steadying  herself  by  the 
chair  back,  to  have  gone  momentarily  blind.  Singleton 
suggested  she  should  take  care  of  the  jewels. 

"  No ;  oh,  no !  "  she  shrank  back,  and  then  the  poor  soul 
broke  into  weeping.  "  Under  William's  roof !  " 

Singleton  slipped  the  jewels  into  the  brown  suit-case  and 


THE  MESSENGER  175 

led  the  way  to  the  door.  Grindley  stood  with  La  Motte 
open  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  Now  and  then  he  made  a 
note  on  a  piece  of  paper,  laid  on  the  open  page. 

They  waited  for  Lady  Mclntyre  to  master  her  tears. 

"  What  are  you  meaning  to  do  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Singleton  did  n't  hesitate  an  instant.  The  lady  would 
be  shown  every  consideration.  Out  of  respect  to  Sir  Wil 
liam. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Lady  Mclntyre,  with  unexpected 
shrewdness,  "  it 's  his  duty  to  tell  me  that."  She  turned 
from  Napier  to  the  man  who  stood  there  with  that  awful 
"  body  of  conviction  "  in  the  brown  suit-case. 

"  It  will  be  terrible  to  have  her  here  —  terrible.  But 
all  the  same  you  shall  not  take  her  to  London  to-night." 

"  I  am  afraid  those  are  our  instructions,"  Singleton  an 
swered  deferentially. 

"  Instructions !  "  she  echoed.  "  Sir  William  issues  the 
instructions  here.  You  cannot  take  her  away  till  he  comes 
home.  Mr.  Napier," — she  clutched  at  his  arm — "will 
you  ring  up  Sir  William  ?  " 

On  the  other  side  of  the  threshold  Grindley  paused  an 
instant  and  looked  into  the  room  again.  Reluctantly  he 
shut  La  Motte,  and  went  back  for  his  hat  and  stick. 

"  Oh,  come  away  and  shut  the  door ! "  wailed  Lady  Mc 
lntyre,  casting  a  look  of  horror  about  the  raided  room. 
A  few  paces  down  the  hall  she  loosed  her  hold  on  Na 
pier  and  walked  in  front  of  the  three  men.  Even  before 
she  got  to  her  own  room,  she  put  out  her  hand  like  a 
blind  person  feeling  for  the  door.  She  seemed  to  fall 
against  it.  It  opened  and  hid  the  little  figure  from  their 
sight. 


176  THE  MESSENGER 

Napier  followed  guiltily  behind  the  brown  case,  glancing 
in  at  open  doors,  listening  over  the  banister. 

Nan!  His  heart  suddenly  stood  still.  There  was  the 
cap  of  Mercury  on  the  chest  in  an  angle  of  the  lower  hall. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  observant  Singleton. 

"  She  has  —  they  have  come  back !  "  said  Napier. 

"  Oh,  no."  He  went  on  with  the  same  light,  swinging 
gait. 

If  Singleton  was  not,  certainly  the  noiseless  brown  pres 
ence  at  Napier's  side  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  of  the 
afternoon  letters  on  a  table  in  the  hall  below.  The  upper 
most  in  one  pile  bore  the  American  stamp.  That  would  be 
addressed  Miss  Anne  Ellis. 

An  undefined  dread  which  had  lurked  in  the  dark  of 
Napier's  mind,  masking  itself  as  dislike  of  the  man  Single 
ton,  betrayed  more  than  a  hint  of  its  presence  in  an  anx 
ious  speculation  as  to  whether  these  men,  licensed  to  break 
all  laws  of  human  dealing,  ought  to  be  left  alone  a  moment 
in  company  with  letters  and  telegrams,  and  God  knew 
what,  down  there  on  the  hall  table. 

"  We  '11  go  into  Sir  William's  room  and  telephone  him," 
Napier  suggested. 

Singleton  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  He  's  due  here  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Mean 
while,  we  'd  better  take  these  in  out  of  the  wet." 

Napier  could  have  sworn  Singleton  was  studying  the 
top  letter  on  Miss  Ellis's  pile.  The  only  ones  he  touched 
were  Greta's.  All  the  same,  Napier  had  to  put  pressure 
on  himself  to  avoid  picking  up  Nan's  letters  and  secreting 
them  in  his  own  pocket.  He  seriously  considered  the 
possibility  of  going  out  and  heading  off  her  return.  He 


THE  MESSENGER  177 

fixed  an  inimical  eye  on  Grindley  —  Grindloy,  wandering 
about  taking  his  bearings,  La  Motte  still  open  on  his  arm. 
Now  he  was  at  the  door,  looking  out  —  not  for  Sir  Wil 
liam  at  all,  as  it  seemed  to  Napier's  mounting  uneasiness. 
Pie  was  standing  there  looking  out  for  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg's  "  ever  loving "  friend.  Her  "  confederate,"  he 
might  be  capable  of  thinking. 

Napier  struggled  with  a  vivid  prevision  of  Nan  coming 
back  to  find  that  ambiguous  figure  —  Grindley  —  at  the 
door.  And  when  she  knew  what  he  stood  there  for, 
would  n't  she  by  every  look  and  motion  proclaim  her  share 
in  the  Schwarzenberg's  fate? 

Napier  returned  hastily  to  the  man  at  the  table. 

"  You  have,"  Napier  suggested,  "  some  idea,  perhaps, 
when  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  is  likely  to  be  here?" 

In  the  instant  of  Singleton's  pause  to  enter  a  note  in 
that  little  book  of  his,  footsteps  sounded  on  the  gravel. 
Steps  so  quick  and  light,  whose  could  they  be  but  — 
Napier  stood  braced  to  meet  the  misery  of  this  "  coming 
back."  To  see  her  for  the  first  time  after  that  fleeting 
rapture  among  the  rocks  —  to  see  her  like  this !  He 
turned  his  head.  Grindley  put  out  a  slow  hand.  "  I  '11 
take  it,"  he  said  to  a  telegraph  boy  who  stood  there. 

God!  — the  relief! 

"  You  were  saying,  oh,  yes,  When."  Singleton  pock 
eted  his  notebook.  "  If  nothing  is  altered,  she  '11  be  back 
with  the  others  in  an  hour  or  so.  Say,  a  little  after  six." 

"  From  Sir  William  Mclntyre's  point  of  view  might  n't 
it  be  better  to  —  a  —  detach  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  from 
the  rest  of  the  party?  To  get  some  of  what  can't  fail  to 
be  —  a  very  disagreeable  business  over  without  —  a  — " 


178  THE  MESSENGER 

Singleton  eyed  him. 

"Not  a  bad  suggestion."  He  pulled  out  a  time-table. 
"What  do  you  say,  Grindley,  to  doing  without  another 
night  in  that  beast  of  an  inn  ?  " 

Grindley  was  at  his  elbow,  holding  the  orange-brown 
envelope,  superscription  uppermost.  "  Scliwarzeriberg,"  all 
three  read.  Singleton  dropped  his  time-table  and  laid  hold 
of  the  envelope. 

"  ISTo,  you  'd  tear  it."  Grindley's  thick  soft  thumb  was 
already  gently  inserted  under  the  flap.  He  persuaded  it. 
He  put  the  envelope  in  his  side  pocket  and  opened  the 
paper  slip.  As  the  two  secret-service  men  closed  together 
to  read  the  message,  Napier  made  a  movement  for  which 
he  derided  himself,  an  instinctive  drawing  out  of  range, 
as  though  the  telegram  were  the  private  property  of  these 
men. 

Singleton  dropped  his  end  of  the  paper  with  an  impa 
tient,  "Just  exactly  as  interesting  as  usual."  He  gath 
ered  Miss  Greta's  letters  in  a  pile  and  opened  the  brown 
case  to  receive  them.  The  case  was  now  so  full  that,  in 
order  to  include  the  dictionary  abandoned  for  the  moment 
by  Grindley,  Singleton  opened  the  fat  volume  in  the  middle, 
and  spatchcocked  it  face  down  on  the  journal  and  the  jewel 
boxes.  Even  so,  the  case  refused  to  shut.  Singleton 
turned  La  Motte  out. 

"  What 's  the  good  of  it !  " 

"  M'm."  The  sound  Grindley  made  reminded  one  of  a 
child  mouthing  a  sweet.  But  his  vacant  eyes  never  left 
the  telegram. 

"  You  have  n't  told  me," —  with  difficulty  Napier  con 
trolled  his  impatience  — "  I  gather  " —  he  went  on  — "  that 


THE  MESSENGER  179 

you  know  where  to  lay  your  hand  on  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg?" 

"  Tea  telephoned  for  by  Mr.  Grant,  Golden  Lion,  New 
ton  Hackett,"  Singleton  answered,  still  readjusting  the 
contents  of  the  case. 

"  Shall  I  see  if  I  can  get  her  on  the  telephone  ?  " 

Singleton  hesitated.  Over  his  shoulder  he  looked  round 
at  Napier  with  the  faintest  possible  trace  of  a  smile. 

"  Just  as  you  like." 

"  Yes,  it 's  I,  Gavan  Napier.  Speaking  from  Lambor- 
ough." 

She  was  surprised,  greatly,  you'd  say  pleasantly,  sur 
prised.  Had  Napier  not  stopped  her,  she  would  have  been 
welcoming,  in  spite  of  the  fact  conveyed  by  that  subtle 
inflection  which  tells  the  experienced  ear  that  the  speaker 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  is  not  alone. 

"  Don't  use  names,"  Napier  warned.  "  Could  you  get 
away  from  your  party  and  return  here  at  once  ?  " 

"  What 's  happened  ?  "  the  voice  came  sharply  back. 

"  You  might  say  Lady  Mclntyre  wants  you.  She  is  n't 
ill.  And  she  would  specially  like  the  party  not  to  be 
broken  up.  The  motor  can  go  back  for  the  others.  One 
moment !  Could  you  —  use  your  influence  to  prevent  any 
body  coming  with  you  ?  Any  one  at  all  ?  " 

After  a  second's  pause  the  voice  came  pleasantly : 

"  The  others  have  begun  tea  already.  Famished.  But 
I  don't  mind  waiting  to  have  mine  with  .  .  .  perhaps  with 
you !  Good-by,  dear  — " 

Napier  nearly  dropped  the  receiver. 

" —  dear  Lady  Mclntyre." 

Before  he  rang  off,  he  stepped  back  as  far  as  the  cord 


180  THE  MESSENGER 

on  the  receiver  allowed  him  to  go.  To  the  very  threshold 
of  the  telephone  room.  He  had  suddenly  remembered 
Nan's  letters.  Had  they  dared  —  ? 

He  could  see  the  two  quite  plainly,  Grindley  with  a 
glass  at  his  eye,  studying  the  telegram,  with  Greta's  dic 
tionary  between  them.  The  message  was  in  French,  then. 
A  sharp  pricking  of  curiosity  brought  Napier  back  into 
the  hall. 

Grindley  folded  Miss  Greta's  telegram,  returned  it  to  its 
envelope,  and  stuck  down  the  flap.  Then  he  laid  it,  ad 
dress  uppermost,  in  the  empty  space  between  Lady  Mc- 
Intyre's  letters  and  those  of  Miss  Ellis,  picked  up  the 
brown  case,  and  passed  Singleton,  with  a  murmured, 
"  Back  in  time." 

"  Perishing  for  a  pipe,"  was  his  companion's  comment 
to  Napier,  as  the  stout  figure  turned  off  among  the  shrub 
beries.  "  Great  person,  Grindley !  " 

.Singleton  took  a  letter  off  Miss  Ellis's  pile. 

"  How  much  is  she  —  the  American  —  in  this,  should 
you  say  ?  " 

"  You  're  too  good  at  your  job,"  retorted  Napier,  "  to 
imagine  she 's  within  a  thousand  miles  of  being  '  in  it.' " 

"Oh,  you  think  that?" 

His  look  drew  a  sudden  stricture  round  Napier's  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SINGLETON  stood  there  in  the  middle  of  the  hall, 
facing  the  open  door,  and  still,  as  though  he  had  the 
smallest  right  to  touch  anything  of  hers,  he  held  Miss 
Anne  Ellis's  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Something  must  have  happened  to  Sir  William,"  he 
said. 

"  Puncture,"  suggested  Napier,  all  his  energies  concen 
trated  for  the  moment  on  suppressing  every  outward  sign 
of  concern  about  the  fate  of  the  letter.  He  had  forced 
his  eyes  away  from  it.  Yet,  wherever  he  looked,  he  was 
more  aware  of  that  white  square  in  Singleton's  hands  than 
of  anything  else  in  the  hall. 

But  Napier  had  pulled  himself  together  with  a  strong 
hand.  He  must  n't  lose  an  instant ;  he  shied  away  from 
formulating  even  in  secret  the  idea  of  which  Singleton's 
mind  must  be  disabused.  He  got  only  as  far  as  to  ask 
himself,  with  a  ghastly  inner  sinking,  just  what  danger 
was  there  —  could  there  conceivably  be  —  of  Nan's  being 
inadvertently  caught  in  the  net  he,  Gavan  Napier,  had 
helped  to  spread?  Nan!  He  leaned  hard  against  the 
table.  Of  course  —  he  told  himself  —  of  course,  they'd 
find  nothing,  nothing  in  the  world  to  implicate  Nan.  But 
the  shock,  the  wound !  How  she  'd  loathe  this  England ! 
He  sat  down  heavily. 

Singleton  came  sauntering  back,  the  long  chin  in  one 
hand,  the  overbrilliant  eyes  on  Napier.  To  make  an  en- 

181 


182  THE  MESSENGER 

emy  of  this  man,  in  the  present  universal  instability  of 
equilibrium,  would  n't  it  be  a  stupid  as  well  as  dangerous 
mistake  ? 

"  Smoke  ?  "  suggested  Napier.     He  felt  for  his  cigar  case. 

Singleton  did  n't  mind  if  he  did.  As  he  sat  down  on  the 
other  side  of  the  table,  he  dropped  Miss  Ellis's  letter  on 
the  pile. 

Oh,  but  the  letter  looked  well  on  the  table !  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  Napier,  lightly  slapping  his  pockets  —  what 
had  he  done  with  those  cigars  ?  —  there  was  something  not 
only  attractive  about  Singleton,  but  downright  likeable. 

"  It  must  be  a  curious  life,  yours,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  you  know  how  it  is  yourself/' 

"  I  know  ?  "  It  was  one  thing  to  leave  off  hating  him, 
quite  another  to  ally  Gavan  Napier  with  the  underground 
work  of  the  world  of  spies. 

"  Nous  pechons  aujourd'hui  des  plus  gros  poissons,  sur- 
tout  a," — he  dropped  out  as  lightly  as  a  smoke-ring  the 
final  words,  "  Gull  Island." 

Napier,  leaning  forward  to  take  back  the  burning  match, 
very  nearly  fell  off  his  chair. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  — 

"  Oh,  Gull  Island  is  one  of  our  secret-service  pets,"  Sin 
gleton  went  on,  still  in  French  —  though  it  seemed  the 
height  of  improbability  that,  had  he  spoken  in  English, 
any  unseen  listener  could  have  distinguished  words  falling 
in  the  voice  you  would  say  was  low  by  nature  rather  than 
by  caution.  "  Jolly  little  place,  Gull  Island.  I  was  there 
last  month." 

"  Comment!  "  Napier  said,  accepting  the  medium  chosen 
by  his  interlocutor.  "  You  mean  before  I  — " 


THE  MESSENGEB  183 

"  Oh,  yes,  two  weeks  before  you  reported.  You  did  n't, 
so  far  as  I  remember," —  he  seemed  to  indicate  a  flaw  or 
even  a  suspicious  circumstance  — "  you  did  n't  connect  this 
woman  with  it." 

"What  woman?" 

"  Oh,  then  there  is  more  than  one  ?  " 

"  Oh,  see  here," —  Napier's  patience,  perhaps  even  his 
self-control,  was  wearing  thin — " what's  the  use  of  going 
on  like  this  ?  You  know  there  's  only  one  suspicious  per 
son  hereabouts.  What  you  could  n't  know  is  that  I  wrote 
from  Scotland  a  full  and  complete  statement." 

"  Who  to  ?  " 

"  To  Sir  William !  " 

"  That  was  before  you  were  warned  ?  " 

"Warned?" 

"  To  keep  the  Gull  Island  business  to  yourself." 

Before  Napier  could  bring  out  his  slightly  annoyed  de 
fense,  Singleton  went  on :  "I  would  n't  have  dreamed  of 
broaching  the  matter,  if  I  had  n't  just  got  my  instructions 
to  meet  you  in  London  for  the  express  purpose  of  telling 
you  that  the  importance  of  Gull  Island  is  n't  a  thing  of 
the  past."  He  waited  while  Napier  digested  the  news  in 
a  wondering  silence. 

"  In  your  report  to  headquarters  you  did  n't,  I  gather, 
mention  the  lady,"  Singleton  persisted. 

"  Why  should  I  ?  .So  far  as  she  was  concerned  I  had 
only  my  unsupported  suspicions  to  go  on.  I  thought  it 
only  fair  to  Sir  William  to  leave  the  initiative  there  to 
him." 

"  I  see.  It  was  perhaps  the  more  convenient  thing  to 
do." 


184  THE  MESSENGEK 

"  It  was  n't  at  all  convenient,"  Napier  assured  him  with 
asperity.  "  I  got  into  such  particularly  hot  water  over 
my  case  against  the  lady  that  I  don't  at  this  moment  know 
whether  I  am  still  private  secretary  to  Sir  William  Mcln- 
tyre  or  not." 

"Why  is  that?" 

"  She  persuaded  him  that  I  was,  to  put  it  mildly,  salving 
my  wounded  feelings.  Oh,  she  's  —  Napier  jumped  up, 
and  went  to  the  door. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  Singleton's  voice  sounded  an  amused 
agreement. 

"  What  is  she  ? "  Napier  demanded,  turning  round. 
"  Does  anybody  know  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  we  're  for  ?  " 

Napier  stood  there,  an  embodied  interrogation.  How 
closely  did  it  touch  Nan  Ellis,  the  knowledge  this  man 
had? 

"  We  've  kept  an  eye  on  her  for  some  time.  She  has 
been  unconsciously — "  Singleton  flicked  his  cigar-ash  — 
"  of  considerable  use  to  us.  Oh,  she  's  well  known.  Devils 
for  Pforzheim  and  Engleberg." 

"  Engleberg  ?     Who  is  Engleberg  ?  " 

"  The  older  one,  who  called  himself  Carl  Pforzheim.  A 
slim  pair,  those  two ! " 

"  He  got  away  ?  " 

Singleton  smiled.  "  One  got  away  —  Carl.  Ernst  is  — 
extremely  safe." 

The  thought  of  Lady  Mclntyre  came  to  Napier,  along 
with  the  horror  of  the  picture  Singleton  had  evoked;  in 
timates  of  Kirklamont,  donors  of  Boris  and  Ivan;  Mr. 
Ernst,  in  prison  waiting  for  the  firing  squad;  Mr.  Carl 


THE  MESSENGER  185 

showing  his  "  nice  teeth  "  in  a  rictus  of  terror  before  turn 
ing  to  take  McClintock's  knife  in  his  throat. 

"  There 's  no  call  to  make  a  mystery  of  this  little 
Schwarzenberg  affair,"  Singleton  was  saying.  "  The 
woman  is  better  known  in  Brussels.  Better  known  still 
in  Cincinnati,  Ohio."  Singleton  smiled.  "  She  has  a 
great  reputation  in  a  certain  suburb  of  that  semi-German 
city.  The  good  people  of  New  Bonn  are  proud  of  her. 
She  has  come  on  so." 

"  Come  on  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  began  to  '  come  on '  from  the  moment  she 
arrived,  twenty  years  ago,  at  the  age  of  twelve." 

"  You  don't  mean  she  's  thirty-two  ?  " 

"  Thirty-three,  to  be  exact.  She  came  from  a  suburb  of 
Berlin  with  an  older  sister,  to  help  in  the  patriarchal 
family  of  the  Cincinnati  uncle  and  aunt." 

"The  millionaire  uncle?" 

Singleton's  nod  of  pleasant  indulgence  accompanied  the 
more  exact  information. 

"  He  'd  laid  by  money  enough  to  start  a  little  beer  gar 
den.  The  older  sister  soon  went  out  to  service.  This 
one  insisted  on  going  to  school.  But  she  helped  in  the 
beer  garden  between  whiles.  Made  a  friend  of  one  of  the 
habitues,  a  fiddler  in  the  local  band.  She  sang  for  the 
beer  garden  customers,  and  they  threw  her  dimes.  At 
fourteen  she  got  an  engagement  at  the  little  German 
theater.  She  sent  home  the  passage  money  for  a  brother. 
Instead  of  putting  him  to  a  trade,  she  put  him  to  school. 
This  girl  of  fifteen.  The  next  year  she  sent  for  another 
brother.  Meme  jeu.  Oh, 'she's  been  very  decent  to  her 
family.  But  the  voice  of  great  souls  appears  always  to 


186  THE  MESSENGER 

have  been  Miss  Schwarz's  undoing.  Her  voice  was  un 
formed.  She  forced  it.  Broke  it.  At  eighteen  an  end 
to  hopes  of  great  operatic  career.  A  year  or  so  later  she 
went  on  the  stage.  Played  in  German  a  couple  of  sea 
sons.  Graduated  into  English.  Then  there 's  a  goodish 
interval  which  we  have  n't  yet  filled.  Nearly  six  years,  I 
make  it.  When  she  next  comes  to  the  surface,  she  had 
fallen  in  with  Pforzheim  at  Washington,  and  was  falling 
out  with  him  in  Paris.  The  Brussels'  Secret  Service  had 
employed  him  on  that  Due  de  Berry  case.  She  did  the 
work.  Pforzheim,  as  usual,  got  the  credit,  and  naturally 
most  of  the  cash.  She  needs  an  awful  lot  to  keep  her 
going  —  this  woman.  They  quarreled  over  the  amount. 
She  washed  her  hands  of  the  job  and  of  him,  and  back  she 
goes  to  America.  Out  of  the  glare  and  excitement  of 
Paris  and  a  partnership  in  Pforzheim's  plottings,  to  — 
what  do  you  suppose  ?  To  teach  music,  of  all  things !  In 
San  Francisco,  of  all  places !  In  a  private  family ! " 
Singleton  laughed.  "  These  Ellises !  "  He  nodded  at  Miss 
Anne's  letters.  "  Again  and  again  we  've  traced  Greta 
Schwarz  doing  this  and  that  for  the  International  Bureau, 
being  successful  and  well  paid,  and  suddenly  chucking  the 
whole  thing  and  going  back  to  respectability  and  dullness. 
An  inversion  of  the  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  flame.  The 
desire  of  the  butterfly  to  labor,  to  store  honey  and  es 
teem  !  " 

Napier  brought  him  back  to  the  point.  "  Now  that 
you  've  landed  Pforzheim,  any  more  use  for  her  ?  " 

"  None  on  earth." 

"  But  if  in  this  case  she  's  been  only  Pforzheim's  tool, 
is  the  evidence  enough  —  ?  " 


THE  MESSENGER  187 

Singleton  nodded. 

"  Her  neck 's  in  the  noose.  You  don't  believe  her  neck 's 
in  the  noose  ?  " 

The  smile  was  ugly.  It  gave  a  certain  sportsman's 
pleasure  to  Napier's  reply. 

"  She  's  a  very  clever  person  —  is  Miss  von  Schwarzen- 
berg." 

"Well,  my  experience  with  all  these  people,"  returned 
Singleton,  easily,  "is  that  the  cleverest  do  the  rashest 
things.  Who  takes  care  of  Pforzheim's  tracery  of  fortifica 
tions?  Pforzheim?  $"ot  he.  This  woman,  with  twice 
his  wits.  And  what  do  you  think  of  her  setting  down  in 
that  idiotic  diary  full  reports  of  conversations  among  offi 
cials?  Some  at  dinner,  some  overheard.  And  do  you 
think  Number  Eighteen  —  that  is  Pforzheim  —  do  you 
think  he  was  going  to  run  the  risk  of  having  code  mes 
sages  traced  to  him?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  compromising 
messages  come  to  her." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

Singleton  dropped  his  long  fingers  on  the  orange  en 
velope  and  played  a  brief  tattoo. 

"  We  stopped  another  of  the  same  sort,  signed  in  her 
name,  this  morning  at  the  local  post-office." 

"  And  you  could  read  it  ?  " 

"  Anybody  could  read  it.  Order  on  an  Amsterdam 
broker  to  buy  Tarapaca  nitrates." 

"  And  what  did  that  tell  you?  " 

"  Absolutely  nothing.  We  've  tapped  messages  of  the 
same  sort  before." 

"  Then  you  are  no  forrader." 

"  We  were  n't  when  we  got  here  this  afternoon."    Al- 


188  THE  MESSENGEK 

though  the  conversation  had  been  carried  on  in  low-voiced 
French,  Singleton  leaned  over  the  table  and  dropped  out 
the  next  sentence  in  a  tone  that  barely  escaped  the  sus 
picion-stirring  whisper,  "  Grindley  found  a  French  dic 
tionary  in  her  writing-table." 

"  What  good  did  that  do  you  ?  " 

"  All  the  good  in  the  world."  Singleton's  face  shone 
with  the  good  it  did  him.  "  You  see,"  he  went  on,  in  that 
careless-sounding  undertone,  "  the  hitch  was  we  could  n't 
hit  on  the  code.  That 's  why  we  've  been  giving  her 
rope." 

"And  now?" 

"  Now  —  ?  "  In  a  flash  of  pantomime  Singleton  with 
one  hand  suggested  the  knotting  round  the  throat.  His 
quick  fingers  carried  the  invisible  cord  above  his  head.  He 
dangled  the  phantom  felon  in  the  air.  "  And  the  beauty 
of  it  is,  she  's  done  it  herself." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Napier. 

"  You  would  n't  if  you  knew  Grindley !  "  Singleton 
smiled  comfortably  as  he  lay  back  in  the  high  carved 
chair.  "  Frightfully  intelligent  boy,  Grindley.  You  see," 
—  suddenly  he  bent  over  the  table  again  — "  it 's  like  this. 
They  send  about  a  devilish  lot  of  their  information  in  the 
form  of  brokers'  orders.  I  dare  say,  if  you  've  noticed, 
she  '11  pretend  to  read  the  '  Financial  Times.'  " 

He  waited  only  a  second  for  the  verification  Napier 
withheld.  But  the  familiar  picture  sprang  up  at  call: 
Miss  Greta  half  coquettish,  half  girlishly  —  appealing,  "  I 
must  see  what 's  happened  to  my  poor  little  earnings." 
Sir  William  amused,  pleasantly  malicious,  "  As  if  you  'd 
know,  even  if  they  told  you !  You  'd  far  better  ask  me." 


THE  MESSENGER  189 

"  Thank  you  immensely,  but  women  ought  n't  to  be  so 
dreadfully  dependent.  I  'd  like  to  make  myself  under 
stand.  Perhaps  in  time  — : 

And  Sir  William's  laughter:  "When  rivers  run  uphill 
and  kittens  cry  to-whitt,  to-whoo !  " 

Singleton  had  taken  out  a  note-book  and  scribbled  two 
or  three  lines. 

"  She  '11  telegraph  something  like  that."  He  held  the 
book  open  on  the  table  under  Napier's  eyes.  "  She 
wouldn't  care  a  button  if  the  post-office  people  gave  that 
up  or  whose  hands  it  fell  into." 

Certainly  in  Napier's  hands  it  would  have  made  Miss 
Greta  no  trouble. 

"You  might  call  it  stupid,"  was  his  comment. 

"Exactly.  Nobody  could  be  expected  to  see  danger  to 
the  state  in  an  order  to  buy  Nepaul  rice  or  Sumatra 
cigars.  It's  all  right  and  runs  on  greased  rails,  till 
Grindley  comes  along.  He  turns  over  that  La  Motte  of 
hers,  till  he  notices  some  minute  pencil-marks  on  one  of 
the  green  advertisement  pages  at  the  back.  The  marks 
were  so  small  that  no  eyes  but  Grindley's  would  have  no 
ticed  them  at  all.  And  even  Grindley  could  n't  read  them 
without  a  magnifying  glass."  .Singleton  leaned  over  sud 
denly  till  he  could  command  the  avenue,  stretching,  sun- 
flecked,  empty  to  the  gates. 

"Do  you  always  hear  the  motor  before  it  gets  to  the 
plantation  ?  " 

"  Always." 

"  Well,  the  kind  of  thing  that  came  out  under  the  glass 
was :  '  Market  dull  —  Ascertain  K  —  activity.'  R,"  in 
terpreted  Singleton,  "  meaning  Hosyth,  of  course.  '  Prices 


190  THE  MESSENGER 

falling  —  Leaving  Southampton.  Advise  purchase  —  Re 
port  to  Seventy-Six/ 

"  Seventy-six  is  the  number  of  the  German  agent  at 
Amsterdam.  We've  learned  a  good  deal  since  we  dis 
covered  that  is  where  seventy-six  hangs  out.  This  message, 
for  instance," —  he  nodded  at  the  one  between  them  on  the 
table — "says,  'Advise  immediate  purchase  Erie  at  22^4 
—  %  and  steel  129%,  market  rising.'  It 's  clear,  accord 
ing  to  the  La  Motte  code,  that  something 's  got  to  be  re 
ported  instantly  to  the  German  secret  service  agent  at 
Amsterdam.  The  question  is  what?  Even  if  we  inter 
cepted  the  message,  we  should  n't  be  any  the  wiser.  Or, 
rather,  we  should  n't  have  been,  if  Grindley  had  n't  gone 
juggling  with  the  numbers  of  the  stock  quotations  till  it 
occurred  to  him,  after  trying  the  thing  twenty  other  ways." 
He  stopped. 

"  Yes,"  Napier  threw  in.  "  I  've  been  wondering  why 
you  tell  me  all  this." 

His  smile  was  slightly  abstracted. 

"  It 's  all  right,  I  thought  I  heard  a  motor,"  said  Single 
ton.  He  met  Napier's  eyes.  "  It 's  my  business  to  know 
men,  and  before  it  was  my  business  I  knew  you."  That 
was  the  sole  reference  made  to  the  Oxford  episode. 
"  Grindley  's  got  an  idea,"  Singleton  went  on  and  his  face 
reflected  the  brilliance  of  it,  "  that  the  consonants  in  the 
occasional  short-code  words  interpolated  into  some  of  the 
messages  —  words  like  Tubu,  and  so  on  —  stand  for  the 
class  of  ship  the  submarines  are  to  look  out  for.  Tubu 
equals  Torpedo  boat.  Kreuzer,  Kleinkreuzer,  Zerstorer, 
and  so  on,  are  indicated,  we  think  now,  in  the  same 
way." 


THE  MESSENGER  191 

Napier  made  no  pretense  at  sharing  Singleton's  delight 
in  these  speculations. 

"  All  this  information/'  he  exclaimed,  "  going  back  and 
forth  with  absolute  impunity !  " 

"  Until  to-day,"  Singleton  breathed  out  from  full  lungs. 
"  Great  day  this  for  the  service !  " 

But  Napier  sat  appalled.  No  ship  to  leave  our  harbors, 
but  its  character  and  course  might  be  known  to  the  enemy 
lying  in  wait !  He  began  to  believe  things  he  'd  scoffed  at. 
It  was  true,  then,  the  Germans  had  coded  in  their  secret- 
service  ciphers  every  naval  base,  every  ammunition  center, 
every  camp,  every  war-vessel  of  the  British  fleet.  He  said 
as  much,  with  raging  in  his  heart. 

"  And  while  ship  after  ship,  crew  after  crew,  goes  down, 
what  is  our  secret  service  doing!  '' 

One  member  of  it  was  blowing  smoke-rings.  Not  till 
the  supply  of  smoke  gave  out,  did  Singleton  fall  back  on 
words : 

"  You  hear  very  little  about  the  English  secret  service, 
and  you  hear  a  lot  about  the  German.  That,  to  begin  with, 
is  an  advantage,  greater  than  you  can  appreciate.  I  don't 
propose  to  subtract  from  it.  But  there's  no  law  against 
my  talking  about  the  German  system.  Their  greatest  tech 
nical  flaw  is  that  they  lose  themselves  in  a  wilderness  of 
detail.  Their  men  will  know  all  about  the  trajectory  and 
penetration  of  the  fourteen-inch  gun,  and  they  '11  under 
stand  so  little  the  men  who  make  the  guns  that  our  quarrels 
among  ourselves,  our  industrial  unrest,  is  taken  to  mean 
that  we  're  ready  to  consent  to  '  a  German  peace.'  They  '11 
report  reams  —  we've  seen  'em,  got  'em  docketed  in  our 
drawers  —  reams  about  the  ordnance  factories  of  the  Ar- 


192  THE  MESSENGER 

gyle  works.  But  as  for  the  new  projectile  we're  turning 
out  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  they  '11  have  no  more  idea 
of  that  —  till  it  goes  whistling  and  roaring  through  their 
compact  formations  —  than  they  have  that  the  money 
they  're  still  secretly  supplying  to  Pforzheim  comes  straight 
to  our  Intelligence  Department.  All  the  same,  where  the 
Germans  fail  is  n't  in  brains.  Trouble  with  the  ruck  of 
'em  is,  they  go  from  the  extreme  of  sentimentality  at  one 
end,  to  the  extreme  of  brutality  at  the  other.  Pforzheim ! 
A  sort  of  modern  Werther,  with  a  capacity  for  cruelty 
that  would  turn  a  South  Sea  cannibal  sick.  This  woman, 
too.  Risk  her  own  life  and  lose  Pforzheim  his,  colossal 
business  in  hand,  and  goes  on  like  the  heroine  of  a  shilling 
shocker.  Can't  resist  collecting  all  the  silly  '  properties.' 
Simply  dotes  on  the  paraphernalia,  pistol,  and  what  not. 
One  of  the  unwritten  rules  of  the  service :  '  Make  no 
memoranda.  Carry  no  documents;  only  by  rare  exception 
carry  arms.'  She  goes  putting  down  compromising  details, 
in  a  letter,  for  the  amateurish  pleasure  of  airing  her  '  in 
side  knowledge '  of  the  British  Cabinet,  and  making  use  of 
invisible  ink.  Xo  self-respecting  British  spy  would  be 
caught  dead  with  most  of  the  truck  she  'd  collected  in  that 
box." 

Xapier  had  the  very  soundest  conviction  that,  however 
poorly  Singleton  thought,  or  pretended  to  think,  of  Miss 
Greta's  qualifications,  he  had  set  a  guard  of  some  sort  at 
every  possible  avenue  of  escape.  The  woman  was  already 
as  much  a  prisoner  as  any  badger  in  the  bottom  of  a  bag. 
"  If  she 's  a  specimen  of  the  amateur,"  Xapier  said, 
"  Heaven  save  us  from  the  professional !  " 

Singleton  laughed.     "  Heaven  would  need  to  look  lively. 


THE  MESSENGEK  193 

I M  hate  to  be  the  custodian  of  damaging  secrets  with  a 
fellow  like  Grindley  about.  You'll  see."  He  struck  his 
fist  on  the  table.  "  A  hundred  pound  sterling  to  a  German 
pfennig,  Grindley  '11  come  back  with  that  message  from  the 
Dutch  agent  neatly  decoded.  Oh,  Grindley 's  immense !  " 
Singleton  rolled  one  long  leg  over  the  other,  luxuriating  in 
Grindley's  immensity.  "  We  are  n't  supposed  to  know 
each  other  —  Grindley  and  I.  But  who  would  n't  know 
Grindley!  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  introduced  him  to  the 
chief,  and  the  chief  luckily  is  n't  a  stickler  for  the  con 
tinental  rules  in  this  business.  We  English  humanize  it. 
What 's  the  result  ?  We  totally  mystify  the  rule-ridden 
Hun,  and  we  ?ve  got  the  most  efficient  secret  service  in  the 
world." 

"  Have  we  ?  "  Napier  started  involuntarily  at  the  sound 
of  the  motor  turning  off  the  high  road  and  running  now 
through  the  plantation  with  a  muffled  hum.  "  Here  comes 
the  —  amateur !  " 

No  acumen  was  required  to  read  the  fact  that,  in 
Napier's  opinion,  Singleton  underestimated  the  noxious 
power  of  the  amateur  agent. 

"  I  don't  deny," —  the  secret-service  man  stood  up,  but 
he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  lower  register,  as  though  the 
invisible  comer  were  already  at  the  door  — "'  I  'm  not  for  a 
moment  denying  that  this  woman  can  do  a  certain  amount 
of  harm.  She  's  got  to  be  suppressed.  But  think  of  what 
she  might  do!  She's  had  every  opportunity,  and  she'll 
always  fall  short." 

"  Not  ruthless  enough  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  can  be  as  ruthless  as  you  please," —  Singleton 
for  some  reason  had  crossed  the  hall.  He  stood  leaning 


194  THE  MESSENGER 

against  the  wall  near  the  billiard-room.  "  She  could  put 
a  bullet  in  you  nicely,  after  she'd  blinded  you  with 
cayenne.  But/' —  Singleton  shook  his  head  — "  she  has  n't 
the  right  standards." 

"  Oh,  standards  ?  "  echoed  Napier.  It  seemed  a  queer 
word. 

"  At  heart,"  said  Singleton,  "  she  has  longings,  as  I 
read  per  record  —  ineradicable  longings  —  for,  what  do 
you  think  ?  Respectability !  "  He  smiled  and  then  shook 
his  fine  head.  "  To  be  any  good  as  a  spy  you  must  be 
either  aristocrat  —  a  perfectly  satisfying  law  unto  your 
self,  or  you  must  be  canaille.  This  woman  —  she 's 
bourgeoise  to  the  core,  and  a  Romantic  to  boot.  There 
doesn't  exist  a  more  fatal  combination.  I  tell  you,"- 
he  stood  erect  — "  Greta  Schwarz  is  done  for.  Kaput !  " 

"  She  does  n't  look  it."  Napier,  leaning  over,  had 
caught  sight  of  the  car. 

Gliding  round  the  drive,  the  handsome  occupant  visibly 
luxuriating  in  the  comfort  and  elegance  of  Lady  Mcln- 
tyre's  limousine,  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  lay  back 
against  the  dove-colored  cushions,  with  only  her  heightened 
color  to  show  her  the  least  stirred  by  the  unexpected  sum 
mons.  Or  was  the  color  there,  like  a  couple  of  flags,  hung 
out  in  honor  of  Napier's  return? 

"  Ecoutez !  "  Singleton's  head  appeared  an  instant  out 
of  the  drawing-room  door.  "  There 's  just  one  thing 
missing  in  that  box  of  tricks  upstairs  —  pinch  of  white 
powder.  You  must  look  out  for  that  if  we  don't  want  a 
corpse  on  our  hands." 

" I  must  look  out?     See  here  — ". 

Singleton's  head  vanished. 


CHAPTER  XV 

GRETA  smiled  at  him. 
"  What  has  happened  ?  "  another  would  have  de 
manded,  on  sight  of  Napier's  face;  not  Miss  Greta.  She 
paused  on  the  step  of  the  motor,  calmly  giving  the  chauf 
feur  directions  about  going  back  for  the  others.  "  Nice 
to  see  you  home  again."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Napier. 

He  led  the  way  into  the  hall. 

"  You  look  rather  disturbed,"  she  commented  drily. 

Disturbed,  indeed!  Who  wouldn't  at  finding  such  a 
business  shifted  on  his  shoulders?  "We  expected  Sir 
William  before  this," — Napier's  hesitation  was  only  out 
ward.  Inwardly  he  was  cursing  with  extreme  fluency. 
"  The  train  service  is  horribly  disorganized." 

"  Everything  is  disorganized,"  responded  Miss  Greta, 
drawing  off  her  glove.  She  caught  sight  of  her  telegram. 
The  heav}r,  white  fingers  paused  in  the  act  of  opening  it. 
A  change,  quick,  subtle,  came  over  her  face.  "  Some  one 
has  been  tampering  with  this ! "  She  spoke  in  a  sudden, 
harsh  voice,  Napier  had  never  heard  before.  He  was  con 
scious  that  guilt  was  printed  large  on  his  countenance. 

"  Yes,  it 's  been  tampered  with."  He  in  his  turn  spoke 
loud  enough  for  the  words  to  reach  Singleton. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Miss  Greta,  to  his  astonishment.     "  Come 

"  she  led  the  way  across  the  hall,  toward  the  drawing- 
room. 

195 


196  THE  MESSENGER 

"  I  must  wait  here,  for  Sir  William/'  said  Napier,  lamely. 

Miss  Greta  stood  looking  at  him  an  instant,  then  she 
took  the  telegram  out  of  the  envelope  and  glanced  at  it. 
After  a  moment's  reflection  she  folded  it  up,  replaced  it  in 
the  envelope,  folded  the  envelope  small,  and  thrust  it  in 
her  belt. 

"  You  'd  better  tell  me,"  she  said  in  an  undertone, 
"  what  has  been  going  on."  As  Napier  hesitated,  her 
growing  uneasiness  got  the  better  of  her.  "  I  '11  ask  Lady 
Mclntyre."  She  went  quickly  toward  the  staircase. 

"  No,  no,  come  back."  He  waited  till  she  turned. 
"  There  's  been  some  one  —  some  one  was  sent  down  from 
London  to  —  look  into  things." 

Wide  and  innocent,  the  china-blue  eyes  \\ere  on  him. 
"To  look  into  what  things?" 

"  Yours." 

"  Mine?  What  on  earth  for?  "  She  smiled,  divided,  it 
would  seem,  between  diversion  and  stark  bewilderment. 

For  a  second,  Napier  forgot  the  man  in  the  next  room. 
"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  all  up,  Miss  Greta."  He  had  never  called 
her  "  Miss  Greta  "  before,  never  spoken  so  gently. 

She  came  over  to  the  table.  "  And  why,"  she  asked  in  a 
level  voice,  "do  you  think  that,  Mr.  Gavan?"  She  had 
never  used  his  Christian  name  before. 

"  They  've  found  —  what  they  were  looking  for." 

"  And  what  were  they  ?  N  ot  "-  —  she  drew  herself  up 
suddenly  — "  not  that  that  matters,"  she  said  with  a  tow 
ering  contempt.  "  The  thing  that  does  matter  is  n't  that 
in  these  terrible  times  all  foreigners  are  suspect.  The 
thing  that  matters  is  that  Lady  Mclntyre  and  you  —  you 
should  allow  strange  people  to  —  Her  quivering  lips 


THE  MESSENGER  197 

could  form  no  more  for  the  moment.  She  pressed  her 
handkerchief  to  her  mouth.  "  Were  you  present  when 
they-" 

He  nodded. 

"  How  you  could! "  From  a  great  height  she  dropped 
contempt  on  him.  And  she  had  scorn  to  spare  for  the  men 
of  the  secret  service.  "  They  must  be  easily  satisfied ! 
What  do  they  think  they  have  found  in  my  poor  solitary 
trunk?" 

It  was  perhaps  better  to  go  through  with  the  odious 
business  and  get  it  over.  "  They  found  your  journal." 

"  What  of  that?" 

"  Transcripts  of  conversations  at  official  dinners  — " 

"What  of  that?  Always  I  set  down  what  interesting 
people  say.  Every  diarist  has  done  that  since  diaries  be 
gan.  Nan  does  it.  Your  friend,  Julian  Grant,  does  it. 
I  've  done  it  since  I  was  twelve." 

An  effect  of  poise  about  her,  a  delicate  effrontery  in  her 
tone,  steeled  Napier  to  ask :  "  And  have  you  also,  since 
you  were  twelve,  made  a  practice  of  photographing  fortifica 
tions?" 

"Fortifications!  Oh,  this  is  the  very  lunacy  of  sus 
picion  ! " 

"  There  was  also  a  tracing  of  the  most  important  of  our 
new  coast  defenses." 

"  Tracing  ?  What  is  tracing  ?  "  As  Napier  did  not  an 
swer,  she  went  on,  "  I  have  never  seen  such  a  thing." 

"No,  you  wouldn't  see  it,  not  till  you  had  heated  the 
paper." 

"You  mean," — she  gasped — "something  in  what  they 
call  invisible  ink  ?  Who  has  put  that  among  my  papers  ?  " 


198  THE  MESSENGEK 

The  pink  in  her  face  had  not  so  much  faded  as  deepened 
to  a  sickly  bluish  magenta,  like  the  discoloration  of  certain 
roses  before  the  petals  fall.  Napier  looked  away.  She 
stood  there,  pouring  her  cautious,  low-voiced  scorn  on 
some  secret  enemy.  It  wasn't  the  first  time  in  history 
this  kind  of  villainy  had  been  practised  on  an  innocent 
person,  a  person  whom  somebody  —  who  was  it  ?  —  (she 
clutched  his  arm)  —  whom  somebody  wanted  to  get  into 
trouble,  to  get  out  of  the  way.  The  congested  face  looked 
swollen  and  patchy.  Minute  bubbles  of  saliva  frothed  at 
one  corner  of  the  mouth.  Suddenly  she  faced  about  and 
made  a  rush  for  the  stairs.  But  Napier,  at  her  flying 
heels,  caught  her  half-way  up.  He  seized  her  by  the 
shoulder,  and  he  did  it  roughly,  anticipating  a  struggle. 

Instantly  she  was  still.  She  dropped  her  cheek  against 
his  ungentle  fingers.  "  Oh,  Gavan,  save  me !  " 

"  It 's  too  late."  He  drew  his  hand  away.  She  turned 
to  the  friendlier  banister  and  clung  there.  "  They  have 
taken  everything,"  he  said  very  low. 

"Everything?" 

"  All  the  things  you  thought  you  had  hidden." 

"  Hush !  "     She  backed  a  step. 

Napier,  with  the  advantage  of  his  inches,  head  and 
shoulders  above  her,  had  caught  sight  of  an  unfamiliar  fig 
ure  sitting  in  the  upper  hall,  reading  a  newspaper.  Grind- 
ley  !  Greta  had  not  seen  him,  but  she  heard  Sir  William's 
voice  coming  out  of  Lady  Mclntyre's  bedroom,  and  Lady 
Mclntyre's  raised  in  a  sob :  "  William !  William  !  — 
Need  any  one  know  ?  Outside  us  three  and  the  police  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  the  slightest  necessity."  SJr  William  came 
out  and  shut  the  door. 


"O  Gavan,  save  me! 


THE  MESSENGER  199 

He  stood  an  instant  ruffling  up  his  hair  and  looking 
intensely  miserable.  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  had  backed 
down  the  stair. 

Sir  William  descended  slowly,  Grindley  behind  him.  It 
was  Sir  William  who  started  when  he  realized  who  was 
waiting  there  at  the  bottom.  Napier  saw  that  a  strong 
impulse  to  turn  tail  and  leave  this  unpleasant  business 
had  to  be  overcome.  Sir  William  bustled  on  down.  He 
passed  Miss  Greta  without  a  sign. 

"  Where 's  the  other  ? "  he  demanded  of  Napier,  and 
just  then  Mr.  Singleton  strolled  down  the  hall.  Sir  Wil 
liam  nodded  bruskly,  and  turned  to  the  motionless  figure 
of  the  woman.  "I  —  a  — "  (he  felt  for  his  seals)  "  I  am 
sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  that  —  a  —  that  the  police  have 
convinced  me  you  had  better  leave  here." 

"  And  why,"  she  said,  "  should  I  leave  here  ?  " 

"  Because  it  appears  that  you  abuse  our  hospitality." 

She  threw  back  her  head.  "What  appears  yet  more 
clearly  is  that  people  /  have  trusted  have  betrayed  me." 
Over  the  prominent  blue  eyes  the  lids  drooped  a  little.  "  In 
my  absence  some  one  has  laid  a  trap."  She  turned  to 
Napier,  with  a  breath-taking  sharpness.  "  Is  it  you  ?  " 

He  met  her  gaze.  "  I  warned  them  about  Gull  Island, 
and  I—" 

"  Gull  Island !     What  has  Gull  Island  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Sir  William.  "  I  don't  myself  connect 
you  with  the  Gull  Island  business." 

"Nor," — she  made  a  slight  inclination  that  seemed  to 
say  she  was  not  to  be  outdone  in  chivalry  — "  nor  do  I  need 
to  be  told  that  you,  Sir  William,  have  no  hand  in  this. 
You  were  n't  made  for  such  work." 


200  THE  MESSENGEK 

Sir  William's  rolling  eye  caught,  as  it  were,  upon  some 
unexpected  support.  It  rested  for  one  mollified  moment. 

"  I  have  n't  lived  under  your  roof  all  these  months," 
she  went  on,  "  under  the  protection  of  your  great  name, 
without  understanding  you,  even  though  people  you  think 
your  friends  cruelly  misunderstand  me."  The  voice 
caught;  she  carried  her  handkerchief  to  her  shaking  lips. 
Singleton  read  signs  in  Sir  William's  countenance  that 
made  him  anxious  to  end  the  passage  between  the  owner 
of  the  great  protecting  name  and  the  lady  who  invoked 
it.  Singleton  had  joined  Grindley,  who  stood  leaning 
against  the  wall  behind  Sir  William.  In  an  impatient 
undertone,  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell  him  ?  "  demanded  Single 
ton. 

"  Did,"  Grindley  answered.  "  Understood  diary  and 
tracing.  Did  n't  give  himself  time  to  take  in  the  — "  His 
hand  came  out  of  his  side  pocket  with  a  paper.  Single 
ton  plucked  it  away  from  him  and  carried  it  over  to  Sir 
William.  As  it  passed,  Napier  caught  a  glimpse  of  Miss 
Greta's  handwriting  on  a  telegraph  form  bearing  the  post- 
office  stamp. 

"  This  was  sent  out  from  here  at  noon  to-day."  Single 
ton  held  the  message  under  Sir  William's  eyes. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  retorted  Sir  William.  "A  per 
fectly  proper  instruction  to  a  broker." 

"  Till  it  ?s  been  decoded.  If  you  like,  Mr.  Napier  can 
explain  how  afterwards.  What  it  means  is : 

"  Troopship  leaves  Southampton  at  seven  to-night.  Four 
searchlights  playing  constantly  over  harbor.  No  convoy." 

There  was  a  moment  of  deathlike  silence.  The  woman 
stood  as  motionless  as  the  carved  banister  at  her  back. 


THE  MESSENGER  201 

"  Gavan/'  Sir  William  cried  out,  "is  it  true?  " 

"  It 's  true,"  he  said. 

"You  say  this  information  was  sent — "  The  terror  in 
the  old  man's  face  evoked  the  shattered  and  shattering 
image  of  a  torpedoed  ship,  a  sea  full  of  drowning  sol 
diers. 

"  We  stopped  it  at  the  post-office." 

Eelieved  of  the  crowning  horror,  Sir  William  shook  off 
the  paralysis  that  had  held  his  restlessness  in  a  vice.  He 
hurried  half  a  dozen  steps  up  the  hall  and  half  a  dozen 
down,  jingling  and  muttering,  "  This  —  going  on  in  my 
house ! "  He  drew  up  into  a  jerk  as  the  woman  darted 
forward  and  planted  herself  in  his  way. 

"  Why  not  in  your  house  ? "  she  demanded  wildly. 
"  Have  n't  you  a  hand  and  two  sons  in  what 's  going  on 
elsewhere?  What  are  you  doing  to  my  brothers  and 
friends?  Is  it  worse  to  be  drowned  than  to  have  your 
head  battered  to  pulp?  Than  to  have  six  inches  of  steel 
run  through  your  stomach  ?  Would  n't  it  make  you  want 
to  kill  your  enemies  to  see  what  I  saw  at  the  Newton 
Hackett  drill-ground  —  a  bag  stuffed  with  straw,  hung  up 
— •  and  hear  the  Staff  Sergeant  call  it  Fritz,  and  shout  out, 
'  Now,  men,  straight  for  his  kidneys ! ' ; 

"  Gavan ! "  Sir  William's  voice  called  hoarsely,  "  make 
an  end  of  this !  "  He  went  down  the  passage  at  the  dou 
ble,  and  shut  himself  in  his  private  room. 

Less  the  woman's  rigid  lips  than  her  eyes  asked  Single-' 
ton,  "  What  —  do  they  —  mean  —  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  they  do  in  a  case  of  this  kind  in  Ger 
many  ?  " 

As  if  the  men  in  front  of  her  had  been  the  firing-squad, 


202  THE  MESSENGER 

each  look  a  bullet,  she  pitched  forward.  She  would  have 
dropped  on  her  face,  had  Napier  not  caught  her.  He  shook 
her  slightly  by  the  arm. 

"Here's  Nan/'  he  said  under  his  breath,  "I  mean 
Miss  — your  friend  and  Madge — "  The  noise  outside 
pierced  through  the  common  preoccupation.  The  motor 
was  rushing  up  the  avenue.  Napier  led  the  woman  to  a 
chair. 

As  she  sat  down,  her  head  fell  back  against  the  wall. 
The  face  had  a  dead  look. 

"  We  don't  want  her  fainting,"  Napier  said  sharply,  as 
Singleton  leaned  over  her. 

"  There  is  an  excellent  train,"  remarked  the  secret-serv 
ice  man,  "that  leaves  Fenehurch  Street  just  about  this 
time  to-morrow." 

She  parted  her  shaking  lips.  "  What  has  that  —  to  do 
—  with  me?" 

"  You  will  be  able  to  catch  it." 

"  Shall  I  —  shall  I  really  ?  "  She  made  a  fruitless  up 
ward  clutching  at  his  arm.  Her  hand  fell  back  into  her 
lap,  as  though  lamed.  "  Oh,  no !  You  only  want  —  he 
wants" — she  slid  a  look  at  Napier — "to  get  me  out  of 
here  without  a  scene.  People's  —  feelings  —  must  be 
spared.  All  —  except  mine." 

"  He  told  me," —  Grindley's  slow  voice  sounded,  his  eyes 
seemed  to  find  vacancy  where  another's  would  have  found 
Sir  William's  door  — "  he  told  me  he  did  n't  want  to  make 
it  any  worse  for  you  than  necessary !  " 

"  Ah !  "  Something  like  liie  returned  to  the  dead  eyes. 
"  Any  worse,  he  means,  for  himself." 

Napier  turned  awa.y  in  disgust. 


THE  MESSENGER  203 

"  Your  seat  in  the  Pullman,"  said  Singleton  politely, 
"  is  Number  Sixteen." 

"  You  don't  m-mean  they  will  let  me  go  —  home! " 

"  Yes ;  that 's  the  kind  of  fools  we  are." 

As  the  voice  Napier's  ears  were  straining  for  called  out, 
"  Greta !  "  Nan  came  up  the  steps,  leaning  forward,  as  she 
ran,  to  see  into  the  hall.  "  Is  that  you,  Gre  —  She 
hung  a  second,  framed  there  in  the  doorway,  with  Madge 
behind  her.  "  What  is  it,  dearest  ?  "  She  flew  to  the  fig 
ure  on  the  chair.  She  kneeled  beside  it.  "  Greta  darling, 
you  Ve  had  bad  news.  Oh,  what  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "  She 
chafed  the  slack  hand.  She  laid  it  against  her  cheek. 
"  Tell  me,  somebody !  "  she  said,  looking  at  Napier.  "  Who 
are  these  strangers  ?  " 

By  a  heroic  effort,  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  produced  a 
masterpiece.  "  They  —  they  are  friends  of  mine,"  she 
said. 

Singleton,  after  a  faint  smiling  inclination  in  Miss 
Ellis's  direction,  as  though  accepting  the  audacious  de 
scription  as  an  introduction,  made  it  good  by  saying  to 
Miss  von  Schwarzenberg :  "  You  understand  then,  you  're 
not  to  give  yourself  any  trouble  about  tickets  or  accommo 
dation.  We  will  see  to  all  that,  won't  we,  Grindley  ?  " 

Grindley  made  a  consenting  rumble  in  his  throat,  and 
withdrew  with  Singleton  to  the  front  steps.  They  stood 
there  conferring. 

Napier  waited  on  thorns  to  get  a  word  with  Nan.  Was 
it  impossible,  was  it  too  late,  to  put  her  on  her  guard? 
She  seemed  to  have  no  eyes  for  any  one  but  Greta.  If 
Singleton  had  doubted  the  closeness  of  her  relation  to 
that  notorious  character,  what  must  he  think  now? 


204  THE  MESSENGER 

"Try  to  tell  me,  dearest,  what  has  happened."  Nan 
hung  over  the  slack  form. 

"  Are  you  going  somewhere,  Miss  Greta  ? "  Madge 
pressed  to  the  other  side  of  the  chair.  "  Where  are  you 
going?" 

"And  why?"  Nan  urged  with  a  sharpness  of  concern. 
"  You  've  had  bad  news,  my  dearest,  dearest." 

"  Yes."  Greta  remembered  the  telegram.  She  took  the 
message  out  and  half  opened  it.  The  paper  was  now  folded 
in  halves,  instead  of  in  quarters.  Nan  watched  eagerly 
the  fingers,  which  seemed  to  forget  to  open  the  telegram 
to  her  friend's  eye. 

"  Poor  father !  "  Miss  Greta  brought  out  the  words  in  a 
tone  so  exquisitely  gentle  that  Napier  studied  her  face  an 
instant. 

He  was  sure  that,  as  she  sat  there  with  that  look  of 
sorrow,  absently  tearing  the  telegram  across,  she  was 
thinking  lucidly  and  rapidly  what  her  next  move  should 
be. 

"  Is  it  that  your  father  is  ill,  dear  ?  "  Nan  pressed  closer 
to  her  side. 

Greta  nodded.  Speechless  with  emotion,  she  tore  the 
facing  halves  of  the  telegram  to  ribbons,  the  ribbons  to 
fragments,  all  with  the  air,  as  it  struck  Napier,  of  the 
fille  noble  of  the  theater. 

"  Dear,  I  'm  terribly  sorry ! "  Nan  took  her  hand. 
"  But  you  must  n't  think  it  is  as  serious  as  all  that.  Un 
less  —  what  did  it  say  ?  " 

Greta  looked  down  at  her  hands  as  though  expecting 
to  be  able  to  hand  the  telegram  over  to  speak  for  itself, 


THE  MESSENGER  205 

only  to  find  it,  to  her  surprise,  reduced  to  the  fineness  of 
stage  snow. 

"  He  has  been  telegraphing  me  for  days  to  come  home. 
I  did  n't  realize  it  meant  —  this!  " 

"  Perhaps  it 's  not  so  bad  as  you  think.  Let  us  send 
them  a  message,  reply  paid.  And  you  '11  see.  The  news 
will  be  better." 

Miss  Greta  shook  her  head.  "  I  have  put  it  off  too  long 
already,"  she  said  faintly.  "  There  is  the  slenderest 
chance  of  my  finding  him  alive."  Suddenly  she  pressed 
her  handkerchief  to  her  lips. 

"  Darling  Greta,  do,  do  let  me  telegraph !  " 

Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  drew  herself  up.  She  rose. 
She  stook  like  the  heroine  in  Act  III.  "  I  am  a  soldier's 
daughter.  I  obey."  She  went  toward  the  stairs. 


CHAPTEE  XVI 

ME.  SINGLETON"  turned  round,  watch  in  hand. 
"  You  could  catch  the  seven-two/'  he  said  politely. 

Miss  Greta,  at  the  bottom  of  the  staircase,  faithfully 
flanked  on  one  side  by  Nan,  by  Madge  on  the  other, 
paused  to  consider  her  friend's  kind  suggestion. 

"  You  could  be  ready  inside  an  hour  if  we  both  helped," 
-  Nan  enlisted  Madge  as  confidently  as  though  there  had 
never  been  a  cloud  between  them. 

"  You  '11  have  your  things  to  pack,  too,"  Miss  Greta  re 
minded  Nan. 

"  Oh,  I  '11  do  that  in  ten  minutes,  after  I  've  —  after 
we've  helped  you."  Nan's  hand  on  Miss  Greta's  arm 
urged  her  to  the  enterprise. 

"A  —  just  a  moment,"  Napier  interrupted,  the  disorder 
of  the  raided  room  printed  strong  upon  his  inner  vision. 
He  saw  it  in  pieces,  like  a  Futurist  picture  —  a  corner  of 
gaping  drawer  showing  a  confusion  of  papers,  a  glimpse 
of  wardrobe-trunk  dribbling  flimsiness  of  lawn  and  froth 
of  lace;  in  the  foreground  fierce,  violent,  malevolent,  the 
broken  metal  shell  of  the  false  hat-box;  Nan's  eyes,  no 
less  clear,  clearer  than  all  else,  looking  down  upon  the 
chaos  and  indignity  of  a  ruined  life.  She  and  the  other 
"  child,"  Madge,  ought  to  be  spared  that  spectacle.  Over 
the  newel  of  the  banister  Napier  spoke  directly  to  Nan 
for  the  first  time  since  they  had  stumbled  among  rocks  in 
the  moonlight  three  weeks  ago,  fleeing  before  the  tide  that 

206 


THE  MESSENGER.  207 

raced  up  the  shore,  and  before  the  tide  higher,  more  men 
acing,  which  had  risen  in  their  hearts.  "  If  you  were  to 
get  a  telegraph  form  —  if  we  could  write  out  a  telegram 
to  send  to  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg's  father  —  or  —  to  — 
to  — "  he  floundered. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Greta.  "  To  my  father's  agent, 
Schwartz." 

"Anybody  you  like.  We'll  do  our  best"-  — he  glanced 
at  Singleton  — "  to  get  a  message  through." 

Instead  of  going  to  the  drawing-room  for  a  telegraph- 
form,  Nan  took  a  scrap  of  paper  out  of  her  side  pocket. 

"  Schwartz,  cliez  Kalisch,"  Napier  heard  the  dictation 
begin,  before  Madge  created  a  diversion  on  her  own  ac 
count. 

"  Let  me  by,  will  you  ?     I  must  go  and  tell  Mother." 

"  Tell  your  mother  what  ?  "  To  Napier's  relief,  Miss 
Greta  stopped  her. 

"  That  I  'm  going  to  London  to  see  you  off." 

"No,  dear."  Greta  caught  at  a  tress  of  the  girl's 
thick  hair. 

In  the  swift  parley  that  followed,  Madge,  who  had  been 
strangely  quiet  until  now,  flatly  refused  to  be  left  be 
hind.  "  I  "d  go,"  she  declared  with  sudden  passion,  "  if  I 
had  to  walk  to  London !  " 

Miss  Greta  leaned  heavily  against  the  banister.  What 
would  you  ?  —  her  glance  toward  Singleton  seemed  to  say. 
This  is  the  devotion  I  am  accustomed  to  inspire.  Then 
hurriedly  to  Madge: 

"  Listen,  darling.  You  must  be  very  good  and  helpful 
in  these  last  —  whether  they  're  minutes  or  whether  they  're 
hours  — " 


208  THE  MESSENGER 

"  D-don't! "  A  gulping  sound,  more  angry  than  tender, 
was  throttled  in  Wildfire's  throat. 

"You'd  better,  first  of  all,"  advised  Miss  Greta,  "go 
and  telephone  Brewster  to  get  the  rooms  ready." 

Napier  gaped  at  the  effrontery  of  the  suggestion. 

"She  means  at  Lowndes  Square?"  Nan  put  the  hur 
ried  question  with  eyes  of  sympathy  on  Madge,  who  was 
plainly  not  at  the  moment  in  any  condition  to  speak. 
"  Could  n't  I  do  it  for  you  ?  " 

The  girl  gave  her  old  enemy  a  grateful  glance  and,  in 
stead  of  going  first  to  her  mother,  pushed  past  the  group 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  bolted  down  the  passage  to  Sir 
William's  room. 

"  Lowndes  Square  ? "  Singleton  repeated  idly  as  he 
leaned  against  the  door.  "  Is  that  Sir  William's  London 
house  ?  " 

Miss  Greta  did  not  trouble  to  reply  to  the  obvious. 
"Schwartz  chez  Kalisch  —  you've  got  that?" 

Nan  nodded. 

"  It  will  be  more  convenient,"  Mr.  Singleton  inter 
rupted  again,  "  for  you  to  put  up  at  a  hotel." 

Miss  Greta  appeared  to  consider  this  suggestion  also  to 
be  unworthy  of  notice.  She  stood  wrinkling  her  brows 
over  the  form  of  the  message. 

"  Let  me,"  said  Napier.  He  held  out  his  hand  for 
Nan's  fragment  of  paper.  "  Then  you  can  get  on  with 
the  telephoning." 

Could  n't  Nan  trust  herself  to  look  into  his  face  ?  With 
out  raising  her  eyes,  Nan  relinquished  paper  and  pencil, 
and  ran  down  to  the  telephone-room. 

"  Returning  home    via    Folkestone    to-morrow."     Miss 


THE  MESSENGEK  209 

Greta,  still  leaning  against  the  newel,  dictated  as  imper- 
turbably  as  though  she  had  a  week  in  front  of  her  for 
packing  and  preparation. 

He  hardly  looked  at  the  words  he  scribbled.  The  in 
stant  Nan  disappeared  and  Singleton  had  sauntered  down 
the  hall  in  her  wake,  he  said  in  an  undertone,  "  You 
would  n't  like  her  to  see  your  room.  You  'd  better  go  up 
and  lock  the  door.  Tell  her  to  do  her  own  packing  first." 

Miss  Greta  moved  quietly  up  the  stairs  with  Napier  at 
her  side.  "  They  've  broken  everything  open  ?  "  she  in 
quired,  with  contemptuous  mouth. 

"  You  know  what  they  came  for." 

She  seemed  to  consider  that  in  its  various  bearings  as 
she  paused  an  instant.  "  It  is  n't  part  of  what  they  came 
for,  I  suppose,  to  rob  me  of  my  savings  ?  " 

"  They  will  tell  you  about  that.  But  if  you  need  any 
thing—" 

"  I  shall  need  everything !  I  have  nothing  fit  to  travel 
in."  She  spoke  as  though,  amid  the  wreck  of  life  and 
reputation,  her  wardrobe  was  the  most  important  matter 
she  had  to  think  about. 

"  I  should  be  glad,"  Napier  answered,  "  if  you  would 
allow  —  you  will  find  others  equally  ready,  I  dare  say;  but 
anything  I  could  — "  She  would  indignantly  refuse,  of 
course. 

To  his  astonishment  she  stopped  again,  this  time  near 
the  top  landing,  to  say  in  a  rapid  whisper :  "  I  must  pay 
some  bills.  I  am  afraid  I  owe  forty  or  fifty  pounds." 

Napier  assured  her  that  she  would  have  a  part  at  least 
of  her  money  returned,  "  in  some  form." 

"  I  greatly  doubt  it.     I  've  heard  how  they  rob  us." 


210  THE  MESSENGFK 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  they  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  Not 
in  this  country !  " 

Miss  Greta  tightened  her  lip  as  she  went  on  toward  her 
room.  She  looked  through  plump  Grindley  as  if  he'd 
been  thin  air.  Nan  was  flying  up,  two  steps  at  a  time, 
with  a  sheaf  of  telegraph  forms. 

Not  far  behind,  Wildfire  came  flaming.  "  Father  wants 
to  see  you,  Mr.  Gavan,"  she  said. 

Sir  William  was  at  the  house  telephone.  "  Yes,  yes,  my 
dear.  No  fuss,  no  foolishness,  no  publicity.  The  very 
fact  of  our  allowing  Madge  to  see  her  off  —  I  thought  it  a 
horrible  idea  at  first,  but  don't  you  see  the  value  of  it? 
Oh,  here  's  Gavan.  I  '11  come  to  you  in  a  minute." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver.  "  Look  here,  Gavan,  the  really 
important  thing  is  that  the  silly  newspapers  should  n't  get 
hold  of  this.  We  are  sending  Madge  up  with  an  old 
servant  to  see  the  woman  off.  It  will  quiet  any  misgiv 
ings  in  the  child's  mind,  a  thing  rny  wife  is  painfully  exer 
cised  about.  There 's  no  doubt  it  would  be  a  dreadful 
shock  to  Meggy;  and  besides,  the  great  thing  is,  it  will 
choke  off  the  suspicions  of  any  nosing,  ferreting  little 
penny-a-liner.  At  least,  it  would  if  —  my  dear  boy,  there 
is  n't  any  one  else  I  would  ask  such  a  thing  of,  but  do  you 
think  you  could  — •  would  you  — " 

The  strangeness  of  that  leave-taking! 

Miss  Greta  was  the  first  to  come  down,  calm,  carefully 
dressed  in  demi-deuil,  as  one  too  fearful  of  the  death  of 
her  father  to  have  heart  for  her  usual  pinks  and  apple- 
greens,  yet  showing  the  front  befitting  the  daughter  of  a 
soldier.  She  seemed  not  to  notice  Grindley  coming  slowly 


THE  MESSENGER  211 

down  behind  her,  nor  Singleton  and  Napier  talking  to 
gether  on  the  steps.  She  occupied  herself  with  her  gloves 
as  she  waited  till  the  men-servants  passed  her  on  their 
way  back  after  hoisting  a  wardrobe-trunk  and  a  hat-box 
on  top  of  the  service-motor. 

"  That  American  box,  I  am  afraid  it  was  very  heavy." 
Miss  Greta  smiled  as  she  dispensed  her  douceurs  with  the 
demeanor  Napier  could  have  sworn  Miss  Greta  herself  took 
to  be  suitable  to  the  daughter  of  a  German  officer.  It  was, 
at  all  events,  the  demeanor  popularly  supposed  to  be  the 
hallmark  of  the  duchess. 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  advancing  to  the  door  and  speak 
ing  to  Singleton,  "  I  hope  you  won't  mind  waiting  a  mo 
ment  for  Miss  Mclntyre.  Sir  William  insists  on  sending 
his  daughter  along  to  look  after  me." 

".Sir  William  should  have  more  faith  in  us,"  returned 
Singleton,  with  his  agreeable  smile.  "  We  have  already 
telegraphed  to  Cannon  Street." 

"  Cannon  Street !  "  She  supported  herself  an  instant 
against  the  jamb  of  the  door.  And  then  she  looked  back 
to  see  that  the  butler  was  out  of  earshot.  "  Sir  William 
can't  know  we  are  going  to  —  Cannon  Street,  or  he 
wouldn't  be  allowing  Madge — "  How  well  she  knew 
one  aspect  of  London ! 

"  I  don't  mean  the  police  station,"  replied  Singleton. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  indignant  at  the 
trick. 

"  The  hotel." 

She  turned  another  look  across  her  shoulder.  The  cor 
ridor  was  empty.  "  You  are  n't  meaning  I  am  not  to 
leave  the  hotel  ?  " 


213  THE  MESSENGER 

"  You  won't  need  to  leave  the  hotel,  not  till  about  five 
o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  that  in  time  to  prevent  my  friends 
here  from  taking  all  the  trouble  to  order  my  room  to  be 
ready  for  me  at  their  house  in  town  ?  " 

Mr.  Singleton  did  not  stop  to  point  out  that  the  order 
had  been  Miss  Greta's  own  and  that  he  had  politely  op 
posed  it.  "  I  am  sure  you  must  appreciate  that  your 
preference  for  the  convenience  of  a  hotel  will  come  better 
from  you." 

"  There  are  thing  I  must  go  out  for." 

"  Oh  ?  "  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Shopping.     I  have  nothing  I  can  travel  in." 

Singleton  caught  Napier's  eye,  and  both  glanced  at 
Behemoth  disappearing  down  the  drive  on  top  of  the 
service-motor.  Really,  these  Germans!  This  coolly  dic 
tatorial  woman  knew  as  well  as  Singleton  did  that  in  the 
bag  at  his  feet  was  evidence  sufficient  to  imprison  her  for 
life.  She  also  knew  her  luck  in  having  been  in  the  serv 
ice  of  a  man  whom  it  was  undesirable  to  involve  in  a 
scandal.  Nan  and  Madge  came  running  down,  while 
Singleton,  with  his  unfaltering  politeness,  was  still  trying 
to  think  of  some  way  in  which  to  meet  Miss  Greta's  objec 
tion.  "  You  have  so  many  devoted  friends,"  he  suggested, 
"  perhaps  some  one  could  do  these  commissions  for  you." 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  postpone  your  shop 
ping  till  you  reach  home." 

"  /  could  do  your  shopping,"  Madge  volunteered. 

"  You  see !  "  Singleton  went  down  the  steps  and  turned 
to  hand  the  ladies  in. 


THE  MESSENGER  213 

Napier  was  sure  that  Miss  Greta  was  as  aware  as  he 
was  of  the  forlorn,  frightened  little  face  peering  out  from 
the  drawn  blind  in  Lady  Mclntyre's  room.  But  the 
woman,  settling  herself  calmly  in  the  car,  gave  no  sign; 
at  least  not  till  Madge,  on  a  note  of  sympathy  that  struck 
Napier  as  curious  coming  from  that  source,  said  with  an 
upward  glance,  "Mother!"  And  when  Greta  still  af 
fected  to  be  oblivious,  the  girl  said  peremptorily,  "  Look !  " 

"Where?  Oh!"  Greta  raised  her  face.  She  didn't 
bow;  merely  smiled.  It  was  one  of  the  saddest  smiles 
possible  to  see.  "  Your  poor  mother  had  one  of  her  pros 
trating  headaches  to-day.  I  am  sorry."  And  then  the 
car  rolled  away,  bearing  a  haunting  memory  of  that  face 
at  the  window. 

If  Nan's  excitement  at  the  thought  of  nearing  London 
helped  the  party  over  some  difficult  moments^  it  created 
others. 

"  You  see,  I  went  straight  from  the  docks  in  Liverpool 
to  Scotland,  and  from  Scotland  to  Lamborough.  This  is 
the  first  time  in  all  my  life  —  oh,  what 's  that  ?  "  She 
stared  out  of  the  window.  Through  a  gap  in  the  huddle 
of  suburban  dwellings  and  factories,  looming  dark  against 
the  deep-blue  dusk  of  evening,  a  blade  of  pallid  light 
pointed  upward  to  something  invisible  in  the  sky.  "  What 
is  that  ?  "  the  overseas  voice  asked,  awestruck.  While  she 
spoke,  the  giant  shaft  moved  a  little  and  then  stopped.  It 
seemed,  human-wise,  to  reconsider.  Another  bolder  shaft 
shot  up  beyond  it,  seeming  to  say :  "  This  way !  Have  at 
them,  brother !  "  The  doubtful  one  quivered,  and  flashed 
upward,  only  to  be  hidden  as  the  train  rushed  on  into 
the  intervening  immensity  which  was  London. 


214  THE  MESSENGER 

"  The  new  searchlights,"  Madge  remarked  in  a  dry  tone. 
"  Eum  if  we  should  come  in  for  a  Zeppelin  raid  !  " 

"  How  dim  it  is  in  London ! "  Nan  said,  as  she  stepped 
out  of  the  railway  carriage.  "  There  must  be  a  fog." 

"  No.     They  keep  the  lights  low  these  days." 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  platform  another  train,  a 
very  long  one,  was  discharging  its  passengers.  Most  of 
these  people,  with  untidy  hair  and  sleep-defrauded  eyes, 
were  dressed  in  stained  and  tumbled  odds  and  ends.  Some 
were  in  working-clothes;  women  in  great  aprons,  many 
carrying  babies ;  little  children  holding  to  their  skirts ;  and 
nearly  every  soul  in  the  motley  company,  even  the  children, 
had  one  or  more  bundles,  bags,  or  boxes  in  their  hands. 
They  were  like  people  who  had  been  waked  suddenly  out 
of  a  nightmare  and  told  to  run  for  the  train.  They  seemed 
not  to  see  the  prosaic  sights  of  the  platform.  The  look  of 
nightmare  was  still  in  their  eyes.  A  middle-aged  woman 
and  an  old  man  stood  clinging  together.  The  saddest  im 
migrant  ever  landed  in  the  New  World  had  not  shown  a 
face  like  these. 

"\Vhere  do  they  come  from?"  Nan  was  looking  nearly 
as  bewildered  as  the  foreign-speaking  horde. 

"  They  come  from  Belgium,"  Napier  said. 

Singleton  was  waiting  to  hand  Nan  and  Miss  Greta  into 
his  cab. 

"  Non!  non!"  a  high,  agitated  voice  said  in  passing, 
"  Us  Allemands  n'ont  pas  depasse  la  ligne  Ostende-Menin!  " 

Out  in  the  street  newsboys  were  crying  an  extra: 
"Great  battle  raging!  Arrival  of  Canadian  Troops!" 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

ABOUT  noon  the  next  day  a  couple  of  porters  stood 
waiting  for  the  service-lift  at  the  Royal  Palace  ho 
tel.  Each  man  had  a  sole-leather  trunk  on  his  shoulder, 
a  trunk  so  new  that  the  initialing  "  G.  V.  S."  was  still 
wet.  It  was  something  else  which  halted  Napier  in  the 
act  of  sending  up  his  card  to  Miss  Ellis,  a  glimpse  of 
Singleton's  face  behind  an  outspread  newspaper. 

"  Cabs  full  of  stuff  keep  coming,"  was  the  gentleman's 
sot  to  voce  comment. 

Napier  wondered  drily  that  anybody  should  expect  to 
get  the  stuff  out  of  England. 

"  Personal  wardrobe.  Member  of  household  of  cab 
inet  minister.  Special  privileges.  And  nobody  knows  bet 
ter  that  avoidance  of  publicity  is  worth  thousands  of 
pounds  to  Sir  William  and,  I  daresay,  to  the  Govern 
ment.  She 's  playing  it  for  all  she 's  worth.  She  's  got 
this  Mr.  Julian  Grant  in  her  pocket,  too.  He  's  up  with 
her  now." 

The  lift  came  down  with  Nan.  She  made  a  little 
hurried  bow,  and  was  for  escaping.  Napier  stood  there 
in  front  of  her. 

"  Just  a  minute." 

"  I  can't ;  I  'm  sorry.     I  have  n't  got  a  minute." 

"  Yes,  you  have,"  he  said  bitterly,  "  when  I  tell  you  it 's 

about  Miss  Greta's  affairs." 

215 


216  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Oh,  about  Greta  — " 

The  face  was  whiter,  more  transparent,  than  he  had 
ever  seen  it. 

"  You  don't  look  as  if  you  'd  had  a  wink  of  sleep." 

Although  Singleton  had  vanished,  Nan  showed  little 
disposition  to  linger.  As  Napier  stood  there,  looking 
down  at  the  face  alight  with  fidelity  and  eager  service,  he 
knew  in  his  soul  he  was  thankful  there  was  n't  time,  nor 
this  the  place,  to  wring  her  heart  with  the  disgraceful 
truth  about  her  friend.  The  last  thing  he  expected  to  say 
was  the  first  to  come  out. 

"A  ...  you  don't  gather,  I  suppose,  that  Miss  Greta 
is  at  all  harassed  about  money  ?  " 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  think  that !  "  She  smiled  at  him. 
"  The  fact  is,  Greta  —  that  is,  I  did  cable  home  last  night. 
I  am  going  back  to  the  bank  now,  to  see  if  they  've  heard." 

Napier  arrested  her  slight  movement.  "  Just  let  me 
understand.  Do  you  mean  that  you've  overdrawn  your 
account  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  overdrawn.  But  the  gold  I  got  this  morning 
just  finished  it.  I  seem  to  have  needed  a  good  deal  of 
money  lately,  one  way  and  another." 

"  You  got  gold  this  morning,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  was  n't  it  lucky  ?  Greta  has  a  prejudice  against 
paper  money.  She  thinks  it  unsanitary." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  And  you  were  able  to  give  her  all  she 
needs  —  of  the  sanitary  sort  ?  " 

"  No.     I  could  get  only  sixty  pounds." 

"Not  in  gold?" 

"  Forty  in  sovereigns,  twenty  in  half-sovereigns." 

"  You  were  uncommon  lucky ;  but  Miss  Greta  will  have 


THE  MESSENGER  217 

to  give  you  back  that  sixty  pounds,  or  the  inspector  will 
take  it  away  at  the  station." 

"  Oh,  surely  not !  " 

"  Beyond  a  doubt.  They  don't  allow  more  than  twenty 
pounds  to  be  taken  out  of  the  country,  and  that  must  n't 
be  in  gold." 

She  stared.  "  What  do  people  do  who  have  hundreds  of 
pounds  in  your  banks  ?  " 

"  They  have  to  leave  it  behind  till  the  end  of  the  war." 

"  Not  Americans?" 

Nobody,  he  said  significantly,  would  be  allowed  to  carry 
English  gold  to  Germany. 

Gravely,  for  a  moment,  she  considered  the  astonishing 
statement. 

"  Heavens,  the  time !  "  Her  eyes  over  his  shoulder  had 
found  the  clock. 

"  Only  a  little  after  twelve."  He  did  n't  stir  from  the 
stand  he  'd  taken  in  front  of  her. 

"  You  don't  realize  how  much  there  is  to  do,"  she 
pleaded.  Then,  as  he  stood  there  so  immovable,  she  made 
the  best  of  it.  "  I  believe,  after  all,  I  '11  tell  you." 

"  Better,"  he  agreed. 

"  Well,  only  half  an  hour  ago  we  decided  Greta  could  n't 
go  alone.  I  Jm  going  with  her." 

All  his  life  he  would  remember  what  he  went  through  in 
those  next  seconds. 

"  Julian," —  she  threw  in  with  a  hurried  glance  at 
Napier's  face  — "  Julian  thinks  it  will  be  all  right." 

"  You  imagine  you  '11  be  allowed  to  go  ?  "  Napier  said, 
with  infinitely  more  firmness  than  he  felt. 

"  Who  would  try  to  prevent  ?  " 


218  THE  MESSENGEE 

"  Maybe  your  own  embassy." 

"  Oh,  the  embassy!  " 

"  It  could  n't  be  anything  but  very  unpleasant  in  Ger 
many  just  now." 

"  Not  for  an  American,"  she  said. 

"Even  an  American,"  he  replied  with  an  edge  in  his 
voice,  "who  has  already  overdrawn  at  the  bankers'  and 
whose  cable  can't,  I  should  say,  be  answered  in  time." 

A  teasing,  tricksy  expression  put  her  burdened  serious 
ness  to  flight.  "  Of  course  I  know,  if  I  asked  you,  you  'd 
lend  me  what  I  need." 

"  To  go  to  Germany  ?  " 

"Well,  wouldn't  you?" 

"  No." 

She  smiled.  A  secret  rapture  escaped  out  of  her  eyes. 
"  You  would  n't  ?  "  And  then  she  seemed  to  put  him  to 
some  test.  "  Julian  is  kinder." 

"  That 's  as  it  should  be,"  he  said. 

She  made  a  little  harassed  movement.  "  I  must  manage 
somehow.  Julian  's  going  to  get  my  ticket.  He 's  tele 
phoning  about  all  that  now.  But  Greta  wouldn't  like 
me  to  ask  Julian  for  a  loan  for  her" 

Napier  glanced  at  the  clock.  There  was  still,  thank 
Heaven,  the  passport  difficulty.  He  scribbled  a  line  on  a 
card.  All  that  was  really  essential  was  to  make  Julian 
abandon  his  efforts  to  remove  the  obstacles,  and  Nan  would 
be  spared  what  could  n't  fail  to  be  a  horrible  shock.  His 
aching  tenderness  for  the  girl  asked  why  she  should  ever 
know  the  truth  unless,  indeed,  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg 
should  succeed  in  carrying  off  the  goose  that  laid  the  golden 
eggs.  By  all  the  gods,  he  must  prevent  that ! 


THE  MESSENGEK  219 

Eagerly  she  had  watched  him  writing,  and  now  she 
gave  her  own  interpretation  to  the  card  Napier  despatched 
upstairs.  "  It  is  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  if  you  can 
help  us.  But  you  ought  n't  to  have  kept  me !  Send  for  a 
taxi,  will  you  ?  "  she  called  to  the  passing  commissionaire. 
"  Julian  's  promised  not  to  leave  poor  Greta  alone  till  I 
get  back." 

Taxis  were  beginning  to  grow  scarce  in  London.  Napier 
had  followed  her  to  the  door;  they  could  see  the  page-boy 
pursuing  a  cab.  "  Nan  — " 

She  began  to  speak  in  a  nervous,  forestalling  haste. 
"You've  never  understood  about  Greta.  I  believe  it's 
people  of  strong  natures  that  suffer  the  most.  Last  night 
she  could  n't  sleep !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  watched  the  crack  of  light  under  her  door.  Twice 
I  knocked  and  tried  to  make  her  let  me  come  in.  She 
would  n't.  '  Go  to  sleep,'  she  said.  As  if  I  could !  Once 
she  unbolted  the  door  and  came  on  tiptoe  into  my  room. 
What  do  you  think  for?  To  get  a  needle  out  of  my  case. 
Greta!  sewing!  And  what  do  you  think  she  found  to 
sew  ?  She  would  n't  tell  me,  but  I  saw  this  morning. 
She  had  been  trying  to  put  herself  to  sleep  by  changing 
the  buttons  on  that  very-buttony  ulster  of  hers.  Took  off 
all  the  round,  bumpy  ones  and  put  on  a  flat  kind  instead. 
I  can't  see  it's  any  improvement.  But,  then,  I  always 
hate  buttons  that  don't  button  anything,  except  when 
they  're  on  cute  little  page-boys." 

The  cab  had  rushed  up  to  the  door  with  Buttons  on  the 
footboard.  Another  of  the  button  brotherhood  stood  by 
Napier's  side. 


220  THE  MESSENGER 

"Will  you  please,  sir,  come  up  to  seventy-two?" 

He  heard  Julian's  high  voice  through  the  closed  door, 
and  as  it  was  opened,  "  All  that  does  n't  matter  a  straw,'' 
he  was  shouting  impatiently  into  the  receiver.  "  Those 
regulations,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  can  be  set  aside  for 
the  special  case.  I  know  she  '11  have  to  have  a  passport. 
You  Jve  got  to  tell  the  fella  at  the  American  Embassy. 
What  ?  Look  here,  Tommy,  you  don't  understand.  I  '11 
be  round  before  you  go  to  luncheon." 

Napier  had  made  his  way  among  cardboard  boxes  and 
clothes-encumbered  chairs,  to  the  sofa  where  Miss  Greta 
half  sat,  half  lay,  in  a  becoming  mauve  tea-gown.  She 
gave  him  her  hand. 

"Hello!"  said  Julian,  already  looking  up  a  new  tele 
phone  number. 

Madge  came  out  of  the  adjoining  bedroom,  dragging  an 
enormous  brown-paper  parcel  along  the  floor.  "  Did  you 
know  Nan  had  got  you  the  sealskin  coat?  How  do,  Mr. 
Gavan.  It 's  a  love  of  a  coat.  You  '11  wear  it,  won't 
you  ? " 

"  No ;  pack  it,"  said  Miss  Greta,  indifferently. 

"  But  on  the  boat,  Miss  Greta.  You  '11  want  some 
warm  — " 

"  I  've  got  a  coat,"  she  said  impatiently.  "  Take  that 
tbing  back  where  you  found  it." 

"  I  say," — •  Julian  jumped  up  to  lend  a  hand  — "  I  did  n't 
know  you  'd  come  back,  Madge.  1  might  as  well  go  now 
and  see  about  the  passport.  What  "s  this  ?  " 

"  Can't  imagine.  That 's  why  I  brought  it  in."  Be 
tween  Madge  and  her  unskilful  assistant,  the  cord  round 


THE  MESSENGER  221 

the  great  bundle,  already  loose,  came  off.  The  contents 
bulged.  Julian  picked  the  unwieldy  thing  up  in  his  arms, 
and  a  fold  of  heavy  fur  oozed  out.  And  then  the  whole 
thing  had  half  slithered  out  of  his  hold  and  fell  along  the 
floor. 

"  Lawks ! "  remarked  Madge,  with  wide  eyes  on  the 
superb  black-fox  rug,  beaver-lined. 

"  Too  heavy  for  anything  but  a  Russian  sledge/'  Julian 
objected. 

"  Well,  will  you  take  it  back  in  there,  and  put  it  in  the 
canvas  hold-all !  "  Miss  Greta  settled  back  wearily  against 
the  ulster,  as  Madge  and  Julian  struggled  into  the  next 
room  with  the  rug  between  them.  "  I  understood  Madge 
was  going  to  bring  the  maid  to  do  the  packing,"  Miss 
Greta  murmured  discontentedly. 

Napier  leaned  forward. 

"  Do  you  approve  this  plan  of  Miss  Ellis  going  to  Ger 
many  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  can  easily  believe  you  don't  approve  it,"  she  said 
with  a  gleam  of  Schadenfreude. 

"I  do  more  than, disapprove,"  he  answered  under  his 
breath.  "  I  am  going  to  prevent  it." 

"  Oh  ?     And  how  do  you  propose  to  do  that  ?  " 

"I  had  meant  to  put  a  spoke  in  the  passport  wheel. 
But  there  's  a  better  —  a  shorter  way." 

"Oh?" 

He  leaned  nearer.  "I  have  done  my  part  to  prevent 
Miss  Ellis's  knowing  " —  Greta  raised  her  china-blue  eyes 
— "  the  things  some  of  the  rest  of  us  know." 

"  You  are  very  considerate  —  of  Miss  Ellis." 

"  Exactly.     I  am  too  considerate  of  her  to  let  her  even 


222  THE  MESSENGER 

apply  for  a  passport  without  my  first  of  all  —  enlighten 
ing  her  before  you  leave." 

"  Ah," —  she  drew  in  her  breath  — "  you  would,  would 
you?" 

Napier  was  aware  of  having  to  brace  himself  to  meet 
the  unexpected  dart  of  malignity  out  of  the  round  eyes. 
But  it  passed  —  taking  in  the  open  door  of  the  bedroom  as 
it  dropped.  And  in  its  place  came  pure  scorn,  controlled, 
intensely  quiet,  as  she  inquired  in  her  society  manner: 
"  And  you  think  Nan  would  believe  you  ?  You  suppose 
for  one  moment  that  your  word  would  stand  any  chance 
against  mine  ?  " 

Napier  concealed  his  harrowing  doubt  on  this  head. 
"  I  am  to  understand,  then,  you  are  willing  that  the  facts 
we  have  been  at  pains  to  suppress  should  be  known  ?  Very 
well.  I  '11  begin  by  enlightening  Mr.  Grant  and  saving 
him  the  trouble  of  seeing  about  the  passport."  He  caught 
the  sudden  shift  of  focus  in  the  china-blue  eyes.  "  That 's 
what  I  came  up  for,"  Napier  added. 

There  was  silence  for  an  instant,  except  for  the  talk 
floating  in  through  the  open  door:  "No,  let's  fold  it  in 
three.  I  '11  show  you." 

Was  it  the  threat  to  enlighten  Julian  which  had  given 
her  pause?  "We  have  Singleton  downstairs," — Napier 
quietly  suggested  witnesses  for  the  convincing  of  Mr. 
Grant — "and  Grindley  up." 

"  As  if  I  did  n't  know !  " 

"  Then  you  must  know,  too,  that  we  are  none  of  us 
making  this  experience  harder  for  you  than  is  necessary. 
But  "--their  eyes  met — "we  are  not  going  to  let  you 
take  that  girl  along." 


THE  MESSENGER  223 

"  Could  n't  live  without  her,  eh  ?  "  she  burst  out.  For 
the  first  time  in  Napier's  experience  of  her  there  was  a 
common  tang  in  her  tone. 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Simply,  she  is  not  going  with  you. 
I  thought  you  might  prefer  to  decide  this  yourself,  or  to 
tell  her  you  have  ascertained  that  the  passport  difficulty  is 
insuperable;  anything  you  like."  She  sat  looking  down 
on  the  film  of  handkerchief  held  affectedly  in  the  thick, 
white  hand.  There  was  no  sign  of  anxiety  or  haste  in 
either  her  face  or  her  weary  attitude.  "  The  alternative," 
Napier  went  on  in  a  quick  undertone,  "  is  that  she  will  be 
staying  behind  with  full  knowledge  of  all  that  we  have  up 
to  now  kept  back." 

She  turned  to  him  with  smothered  vehemence.  "  It 
never  was  my  plan  to  take  her.  I  don't  know  what  on 
earth  I'd  do  with  her." 

Napier  repressed  the  jubilation  crying  out  in  his  heart. 
"  The  question,  as  I  say,  is  merely,  will  you  give  her  up 
after  struggle  and  exposure  or  will  you  do  it  quietly  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  make  a  rapid  calculation.  "  If  I  agree 
to  this,  will  you  promise  that  she  shall  never  know  what 
I  've  gone  through,  this  last  twenty-four  hours  ?  "  The 
handkerchief  went  to  her  lips. 

"  No,"  said  Napier,  sternly,  "  but  I  '11  promise  that  I 
won't  enlighten  her  before  you  leave." 

"  And  Mr.  Grant  ?  If  you  tell  him,  you  may  as  well 
tell  every  one.  He  could  n't  keep  anything  to  save  his 
neck." 

"  If  you  keep  to  the  course  I  've  laid  down,  I  don't  know 
any  special  reason  for  enlightening  Mr.  Grant."  Napier 
knew  that  he  was  showing  weakness  over  the  point.  Yet, 


224  THE  MESSENGEK 

after  all,  in  a  few  hours  the  woman  would  be  out  of  the 
country.  Behind  that  wall  of  the  German  lines  she  would 
be  lost. 

By  the  time  Julian  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  Miss 
Greta  had  accepted  the  inevitable. 

"  I  don't  want  to  seem  rude," —  she  turned  to  Napier 
with  her  weary  grace — "but  I  think  I  must  ask  to  be 
left  alone  awhile.  Perhaps  you  '11  be  so  very  kind  as  to 
explain  to  Mr.  Grant  that  in  these  circumstances  of  fam 
ily  affliction  "-  —  only  Napier  recognized  the  Adelphi  touch 
in  the  phrase  and  in  the  lace-bordered  handkerchief 
pressed  to  heroic  lips  — "  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more 
I  feel  it  would  be  best  for  me  to  go  home  alone." 

Napier  went  back  to  the  hotel  at  five  o'clock  with  Julian, 
who  drove  his  own  big  car  to  take  the  three  to  the  station. 
The  progress  was  slow  and  penitential,  for  Miss  Greta  de 
clined  to  lose  sight  of  the  two  taxis  which  followed  with 
the  luggage.  Napier,  with  Madge  at  his  side,  sitting  op 
posite  Nan  and  Miss  Greta,  found  himself  taking  refuge 
from  the  unconscious  reproach  in  Nan's  face  by  studying 
the  buttons  on  Miss  Greta's  ulster.  There  was  a  great 
many  of  those  buttons.  The  immense  labor  of  changing 
them  induced  though tfulness.  They  were  thicker,  but 
were  n't  the  bigger  ones  exactly  sovereign  size  ?  The 
smaller  on  collar,  cuffs,  and  pocket-flaps  —  were  n't  they 
precisely  of  half-sovereign  dimensions,  excepting,  again 
in  thickness?  He  began  to  count  .  .  . 

"  Look  at  that  shop !  "  Nan  leaned  forward  over  the 
long  narrow  cardboard  box  she  was  carrying. 

The  front  glass  was  smashed,  the  place  empty.  Over 
the  door  was  a  sign,  "  Zimmerman,  Family  Baker."  A 


THE  MESSENGER  225 

little  way  on  stood  yet  another  shop  with  demolished  front. 
On  the  opposite  side  was  a  third.  There  were  seven  in 
all,  over  each  a  German  name. 

Nan  looked  away.  Miss  Greta  seemed  not  to  have  heard 
the  exclamation,  seemed  to  see  nothing. 

Some  recruits  for  the  army  came  lumping  along,  out  of 
step,  a  sorry  enough  crew,  pasty-faced,  undersized,  in  ill- 
fitting,  shabby,  civilian  clothes. 

The  china-blue  eyes  that  had  "  gone  blind "  in  front 
of  raided  German  shops  were  full  of  vision  before  this 
mockery  of  militarism.  As  she  looked  out  upon  the  hu 
man  refuse  for  which  war  had  found  a  use  at  last,  the 
subtle  pity  in  Miss  Greta's  face  asked  as  plain  as  words, 
"  What  chance  have  these  poor  deluded  '  volunteers ' 
against  the  well-drilled  German,  fed  and  fashioned  for 
war?" 

The  station  at  last !  As  Napier  helped  Miss  Greta  out, 
the  front  of  her  ulster  swung  heavily  against  his  leg. 
"  Sovereigns !  "  he  said  to  himself. 

The  station  was  already  densely  crowded.  While  Napier 
and  Madge  mounted  guard  over  Behemoth  and  the  lesser 
luggage,  Julian  and  Nan,  with  Miss  Greta  between  them, 
disappeared  in  the  crush. 

When  the  reconnoitering  party  reappeared,  Singleton 
was  with  them,  porters  at  his  beck,  in  his  hand  Miss  Greta's 
ticket,  passport,  and  German  and  Dutch  money  to  the 
value  of  twenty  pounds.  He  met  the  chief  inspector  as  if 
by  appointment,  near  the  luggage,  that  loomed  so  impor 
tant  by  contrast  with  that  of  other  travelers. 

To  Miss  Greta  —  although  in  her  ugly  ulster  she  looked 
less  a  person  of  consequence  than  she  might  —  was  plainly 


226  THE  MESSENGER 

accorded  a  special  consideration.  Mr.  Singleton  was  there 
to  see  to  that.  He  could  not,  to  be  sure,  prevent  some  re 
spectful  interrogation  as  to  the  money,  etc.,  she  was  taking 
out  of  the  country,  some  perfunctory  examination  of  lug 
gage. 

The  only  anxious  face  in  the  group  was  Nan's.  Miss 
Greta,  calm  as  a  May  morning,  her  round  eyes  trustingly 
raised  to  the  inspector's  face,  with  eighty  to  ninety  pounds 
in  English  gold  on  her  coat,  and  how  much  more  elsewhere 
who  should  say,  offering  her  purse  and  keys.  "  One  is  an 
American  lock.  I  may  have  to  help  you  with  that,"  she 
said  sweetly. 

Napier  half-turned  his  back  on  them,  but  he  stood  so 
that  he  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  stricken  face  above  the 
long  cardboard  box  which  Nan  was  carrying  as  if  it  were 
an  infant.  Through  the  din  Greta's  innocent  accents 
reached  him.  "  Nobody  ever  told  me !  Oh,  dear,  my  poor 
little  savings ! "  When  Nan  turned  her  tear-filled  eyes 
away  from  the  group  about  Behemoth,  Napier  joined 
her. 

"  What  shall  you  do  after  —  after  she  is  gone  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  have  n't  an  idea  beyond  going  back  to  the  hotel  to 
wait  for  my  cable  from  home."  She  made  a  diversion  of 
opening  the  long  cardboard  box  and  taking  out  six  glorious 
roses  tied  with  leaf-green  and  rose-colored  ribbon.  But 
she  held  the  flowers  absently. 

"  I  shall  be  at  my  chambers.     If  I  can  be  of  any  — 

"  Oh,  thank  you.     I  sha  n't  need  anything." 

When  Napier  faced  round  again,  Greta  was  smiling 
gently  on  the  melted  inspector.  Perhaps  that  functionary 


THE  MESSENGER  227 

would  n't  have  "  forgotten  "  to  confiscate  the  few  pieces  of 
gold  so  frankly  shown  had  he  known  they  were  the  mere 
residue  left  over  from  the  lady's  midnight  activities. 

They  found  themselves  on  the  platform  with,  unhap 
pily,  time  still  to  spare.  Singleton  made  polite  conversa 
tion  with  Miss  Greta,  abetted  by  Julian  and  Madge  —  who 
was  taking  the  approaching  parting  with  astonishing  com 
posure.  A  lesson  to  poor  Nan  who  could  n't  keep  the  tears 
out  of  her  eyes.  Her  effort  to  smile  very  nearly  cost  both 
her  and  Napier  their  self-possession.  She  went  abruptly 
away  from  him,  and  stood  dumb  behind  Greta  at  Julian's 
side. 

"  Take  your  places !  " 

A  whistle  blew.  Miss  Greta  was  shaking  hands  with 
Singleton.  "  Thank  you  so  much.  You  have  been  kind." 
Her  gpod-by  to  Julian  and  to  Napier  were  quieter,  but  en 
tirely  cordial.  She  embraced  Madge  with  dramatic  fervor. 
"  My  darling  child  !  We  '11  never  forget  — " 

Nan  stood,  the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks  unchecked, 
and  probably  unaware.  A  little  apart  she  stood,  all  her 
sympathy,  her  very  soul,  flowing  out  as  a  final  offering. 
"  Good-by,  my  Nanchen ! "  Miss  Greta  kissed  her  on 
both  cheeks.  "  You  '11  write  me  ?  And  you  won't  forget 
me?" 

Nan  was  far  past  power  of  words.  She  thrust  the  roses 
toward  Greta  with  a  look  that  made  Napier  himself  feel 
he  could  fall  to  crying.  Even  Miss  Greta  seemed  touched 
by  some  final  compunction.  The  carriage-door  had  no 
sooner  slammed  on  her  than  she  turned  suddenly  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  something.  "  Nanchen ! "  she  leaned  out 
and  took  the  girl's  face  in  her  two  hands.  She  bent  and 


228  THE  MESSENGER 

whispered.  The  guards  shouted.  The  train  began  to 
move. 

"  Oh,  will  you  ?  Will  you,  Greta  ?  "  Nan  was  running 
along  the  platform  with  upturned  face. 

Miss  Greta  leaned  far  out,  giving  a  flutter  of  white 
to  the  wind  and  leaving  a  smile  for  memory. 

Thank  God!  Napier  breathed  an  inward  prayer.  She 
can't  do  any  more  harm  here. 

Nan  stood  staring  at  the  last  coaches.  Napier  touched 
her  arm.  "Well?"  he  said  gently. 

"  I  ought  n'l  to  be  miserable,"  she  wiped  her  wet  cheeks. 
"  To  have  Greta  soon  to  help  me  to  bear  things  —  ought 
to  make  it  possible  to  bear  them  now." 

"You  are  still  counting  on  her  help?" 

She  nodded,  "  I  'm  to  hold  myself  ready." 

"Eeady  for  what?" 

"  To  join  her.     I  shall  pack  my  trunk  to-night." 

At  the  tail  of  the  dispersing  crowd,  they  were  following 
Julian  and  Madge  down  the  platform.  Napier  slowed  his 
pace,  looking  down  at  the  face  beside  him.  Weeks,  months, 
of  passionate,  fruitless  waiting  —  no !  "I  promised  her," 
he  said, — "  the  lady  we  've  just  seen  the  last  of  —  that  I 
wouldn't  enlighten  you  about  her  true  character  till  she 
was  gone.  You  won't  feel  so  badly  at  losing  her  when 
you  hear  what  we  know  about  Miss  von  Schwarzen  — " 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  Nan  stood  quite  still  an  instant.  "  I  thought 
Greta  did  you  an  injustice !  You  —  you  disappoint  me 
horribly."  She  fled  on  to  catch  up  the  others. 

After  all,  what  was  the  use  of  quarreling  about  a  woman 
who  was  out  of  the  Saga?  In  a  little  while  Nan  would  be 
able  to  bear  the  truth.  Not  yet,  it  was  too  soon. 


THE  MESSENGER  229 

Julian  was  to  take  her  back  to  the  hotel ;  and  that  was  n't 
the  worst.  Napier  couldn't  even  go  away  by  himself. 
He  knew  he  ought  to  see  Madge  to  Lowndes  Square,  where 
the  Mclntyre  motor  and  maid  were  to  call  at  seven  o'clock 
for  the  purpose  of  conveying  the  young  lady  to  Lam- 
borough.  It  was,  at  all  events,  something  to  be  thankful 
for  that  Madge  was  n't  howling.  So  far  as  Napier  had 
observed,  she  had  n't  shed  a  tear.  This  was  n't  the  first 
occasion  upon  which  Madge's  late  self-possession  had 
vaguely  puzzled  Napier. 

The  drive  back  to  Lamborough  was  a  silent  one,  except 
for  that  extraordinary  five  minutes  or  so,  after  Madge  had 
turned  to  say,  "  I  wish  Nan  had  come  back  with  us,  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  she  had." 

"  I  begged  her  to.  I  said,  '  What  shall  you  do  at  that 
hotel  ? '  and  she  said  she  hardly  knew  yet.  She  'd  see. 
Rotten  arrangement,  I  call  it." 

Napier  smiled  down  at  the  girl.  It  occurred  to  him  she 
was  looking  tired,  too.  And  she  had  n't  cried  a  tear  that 
Napier  had  seen.  "  You  seem  to  be  getting  on  better  with 
our  American  friend,"  he  said,  teasing.  "  Stood  it  like  a 
Spartan,  even  when  you  thought  she  was  going  to  Ger 
many  with  Miss  Greta." 

"  Well,  I  thought  Miss  Greta  needed  somebody." 

"  But  did  n't  you  want  the  somebody  to  be  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

He  looked  at  her  again.  "  I  suppose  you  're  expecting 
to  have  Miss  Greta  back  after  the  war." 

"No,"  she  said  again,  looking  straight  in  front  of  her. 

The  thought  of  the  solicitude  of  her  parents  to  keep  the 


230  THE  MESSENGER 

dear  child  in  the  dark,  suddenly  flashed  over  him,  along 
with  the  conviction,  Madge  knows! 

Was  it  possible  she  accepted  Greta's  guilt  ?  He  could  n't 
make  it  out  at  all.  "  Were  n't  you  sorry  to  see  her  go  ?  " 

"  It  was  horrid,"  she  admitted.  After  a  few  seconds 
she  found  a  steadier  voice  in  which  to  say,  "  It 's  been 
pretty  horrid  anyway,  you  know.  We  could  prevent  people 
from  saying  things,  but  we  could  n't  prevent  them  from 
looking  things.  They  wanted  her  to  be  a  disgusting  spy. 
They  hated  her  worse  for  not  being." 

"  Why  don't  you  want  her  back  when  the  war  is  over  ?  " 

She  drew  her  red  eyebrows  together  in  a  frown.  "  I 
expect/'  she  said  slowly,  "  it  will  be  best  for  Germans  to 
stay  at  home." 

Napier  laughed,  but  he  felt  sorry,  in  a  way,  to  see  Wild 
fire  growing  so  sage.  Evidently  she  had  gone  through  a 
great  deal  in  these  weeks,  a  great  deal  of  which  she  had 
given  no  sign.  Behind  her  homesickness  for  her  idol, 
ATapier  detected  a  great  relief  at  the  idol's  being  out  of 
the  way  of  suspicion  and  misprizing. 

"  That  was  why  I  wanted  so  to  go  and  see  her  off.  To 
try  to  make  up  a  little ;  to  do  everything  we  could  do  just 
because  I  felt  there  'd  never  be  any  other  chance."  The 
tears  came  at  last.  "  She  was  nice,  was  n't  she,  Mr. 
Gavan?" 

"  She  was  wonderful."  And  before  they  fell  back  into 
that  silence  that  lasted  till  they  reached  Lamborough,  he 
asked,  "  How  long  have  you  known,  Meggy  ?  " 

"  Been  sure  only  since  yesterday  —  those  men,  what  they 
did  to  her  room." 


THE  MESSENGER  231 

There  was  good  stuff  in  the  Mclntyre  child,  he  said  to 
himself.  The  part  she'd  played  wouldn't  have  shamed 
Napier  or  even  a  Nicholson  Grant. 

There  was  nobody  about  to  receive  them  on  their  return. 
When  Madge  had  gone  up  to  her  mother,  Napier  took  his 
way  down  the  hall  to  Sir  William's  room.  But  he  caught 
sight  of  him  through  the  open  door  of  the  drawing-room 
at  the  far  end.  Sir  William  sat  reading.  That  was  nat 
ural  enough,  and  he  was  sitting  in  his  own  chair.  But  as 
far  away  as  Napier  could  see  his  chief,  he  was  vaguely 
aware  of  something  odd  about  the  figure  that  was,  or 
should  be,  so  intimately  familiar.  It  was  n't  merely  that 
Sir  William  did  not  instantly  rise  to  his  feet,  seal-jingling, 
and  call  out,  "Evening  paper?  Anything  new  about  — 
The  first  impression  was  of  a  man  smaller  than  Napier  had 
realized  Sir  William  to  be.  Or  had  he  —  Napier  half 
smiled  at  the  grotesque  idea  —  had  he  shrunken  in  these 
last  hours?  The  great  chair  Miss  Greta  had  fetched  for 
him  from  Kirklamont  certainly  did  seem  ludicrously  too 
big  for  a  being  so  diminished,  not  only  in  body,  but  in 
spirit.  His  quick  turns  and  vivid  ways  —  what,  Napier 
wondered  with  a  dreamlike  feeling  as  he  walked  down  the 
room,  had  happened  to  all  the  familiar,  foolish,  endearing 
oddities?  For  an  instant  the  thought  thrust  shrewdly, 
Is  he  dead?  No,  he  moved. 

"  Well,  sir,  we  have  done  your  commission." 

Like  the  action  of  a  wooden  automaton,  one  short-fin 
gered  hand  was  pushed  out  toward  the  reading-desk.  It 
seemed  to  point  to  the  small  phial  that  lay  on  the  ledge  of 
the  rack;  the  phial  he  had  carried  in  his  pocket  for  months 


232  THE  MESSENGER 

now  as  precaution  in  the  event  of  an  attack  of  angina.  But 
Sir  William's  eyes  were  not  on  the  phial.  They  were  fixed 
on  an  open  telegram. 

And  it  was  that  telegram  Sir  William  had  sat  reading. 
For  how  long? 

The  telegram  regretted  to  inform  him  that  his  son, 
Captain  Colin  Mclntyre,  while  bravely  leading  his  bat 
talion,  had  been  killed  in  action. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

WHATEVER  it  was  she  had  heard  or  not  heard 
from  Germany,  Nan  presently  unpacked  her 
trunk  and  installed  herself  in  a  flat  in  Westminster,  with 
a  servant,  two  aged  Belgian  refugee  women,  and  the  grand 
son  of  one  of  them,  a  little  boy  of  five. 

That  for  some  time  was  the  extent  of  Napier's  knowl 
edge  of  what  was  going  on. 

For  the  rest  of  that  bewildering,  tormenting  autumn 
he  had,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  only  fleeting  and  in 
frequent  glimpses  of  the  girl.  And  this  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  and  Madge  had  set  up  an  intimate  friendship. 
Until  a  certain  day  in  December,  the  two  were  often  to 
gether  both  at  the  Lowndes  Square  house  and  at  Nan's 
flat.  The  Belgian  women,  Napier  gathered,  were  a  sore 
trial.  But  that  is  another  story. 

Napier  knew  quite  well  he  had  n't  his  lack  of  sympathy 
with  her  Belgian  complications  to  thank  for  the  sense  of 
gene,  of  being  on  new  and  uncertain  ground  in  such  en 
counters  with  Nan  as  the  times  permitted.  Was  it  be 
cause  she  knew,  and  resented,  his  having  prevented  her 
going  to  Germany  in  Greta's  wake?  Or  was  it  because 
some  inkling  had  reached  her  as  to  the  rifling  of  Greta's 
room  at  Lamborough  ?  Madge  could  n't  have  resisted  the 
temptation  to  tell  Nan  the  whole  story  by  now.  And  why 
should  Napier  alone  keep  silence?  Why,  anyway,  keep 

233 


234  THE  MESSENGEE 

up  this  fiction  of  Greta's  impeccability?  "  I  '11  have  it  out 
with  N~an  at  the  very  first  opportunity ! " 

Napier  was  almost  happy,  for  a  time,  anticipating  his 
first  opportunity. 

It  came  after  a  highly  uncomfortable  luncheon  at 
Lowndes  Square,  the  occasion  of  Julian's  last  appearance 
in  that  house  where,  ever  since  boyhood,  he  had  been  so 
welcome. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  older  people  had  sat  down,  Madge 
came  in,  bringing  Julian  and  Nan  Ellis.  The  girls  wore 
that  look  of  happy  responsibility  that  had  begun  to  shine 
on  young  faces  in  England. 

"  I  've  joined  the  Emergency  Corps,"  Madge  announced. 

"  Your  new  excuse  for  being  late  for  meals,"  Sir  Wil 
liam  exclaimed,  with  a  brusquerie  intended  to  strike  a  few 
enlivening  sparks  out  of  Wildfire.  And  she  actually  let 
it  pass. 

Lady  Mclntyre,  in  her  fashionable  mourning,  more 
shrunken  and  piteous  than  ever,  went  on  addressing  to 
Julian  her  polite  inanities,  couched  for  the  most  part  in 
that  form  of  acknowledged  intellectual  poverty,  the  ques 
tion.  How  many  more  months  did  Julian  think  this 
dreadful  war  was  going  to  last  ?  "  They  "  could  n't  get 
home  by  Christmas  now,  could  they?  Wasn't  it  wicked, 
after  promising?  And  what  did  Julian  think  about  the 
letters  in  the  papers  about  possible  air  raids? 

"  Wildest  folly  ever  talked !  "  Sir  William  interjected. 

"  It 's  true,"  said  Lady  Mclntyre,  hopefully.  "  William 
has  never  believed  there  's  the  least  chance  of  a  Zeppelin 
reaching  England." 


THE  MESSENGER  235 

"  As  much  as  your  descending  on  Berlin 'out  of  a  para 
chute.  To  insure  against  air  raids  is  to  waste  money  and 
cocker  up  the  Germans." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  too  ?  "  Lady  Mclntyre  fixed  her 
blue  eyes  on  Julian  Grant's  face.  "  Do  you  know,  in  spite 
of  what  William  says,  /  can't  help  feeling  that  every  one 
who  goes  out  at  night  in  these  dreadful  times  ought  to 
take  precautions."  As  no  one  responded,  she  strengthened 
her  point.  "I  hear  the  streets  grow  darker  and  darker. 
Every  night  —  yes,  every  single  night  —  people  are  run 
over.  The  only  way  is  for  everybody  who  goes  out  at  night 
to  insure  themselves." 

Nobody  seemed  to  have  the  heart  to  disturb  her  appar 
ent  belief  that  to  insure  against  accident  meant  that  a  stop 
would  be  put  to  these  regrettable  affairs. 

"All  this  talk  in  the  papers,"  Sir  William  went  on, 
"  is  pure  concession  to  panic.  Like  the  nonsense  about 
what  the  submarines  might  do.  Nothing  could  suit  Ger 
many's  book  better." 

"  Except,  I  suppose,  sinking  our  ships."  For  the  first 
time  Julian  took  •  some  interest  in  the  conversation. 

"  Sinking  our  ships ! "  quavered  Lady  Mclntyre. 

"  I  should  have  thought  the  loss  of  the  Abouleir  and 
Cressy  (those  awful  casualty-lists!)  might  have  made  peo 
ple  a  little  less  ready  to  talk  about  our  invulnerable  Navy." 

"  So," —  Sir  William  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and 
fell  to  seal-rattling  under  the  table  — "  so  you  've  come 
now  to  doubt  the  power  of  the  British  Navy !  " 

"  I  've  come,"  said  Julian,  "  to  see  the  danger  of  not 
doubting  it." 


236  THE  MESSENGER 

The  seals  joined  the  general  silence. 

"  I  wonder/'  Sir  William  remarked  dryly,  "  what  your 
father  would  say  to  your  views." 

"I  could  tell  you,  sir,  if  it  mattered." 

"  If  it  mattered !  God  bless  my  soul !  "  Sir  William 
looked  at  Julian  for  the  first  time  with  cold  dislike. 

After  luncheon  the  younger  members  of  the  party  still 
hung  aimlessly  about  the  table  in  the  hall,  while  Sir  Wil 
liam  and  Lady  Mclntyre  opened  the  letters  brought  by 
the  latest  post. 

Napier  tried  in  vain,  by  any  of  the  unmarked  means,  to 
detach  Nan  'from  the  others.  Finally  he  said,  with  less 
indirectness  than  he  often  permitted  himself,  "  I  never 
see  you  now.  Are  you  still  too  devoured  by  the  Belgian 
locusts  to  have  anything  left  for  your  older  —  friends  ?  " 

"  Locusts !  How  can  you  ?  I  am  not  at  all  devoured. 
Or,  if  I  am,  it 's  by  something  quite  different."  She  said 
it  with  her  air  of  new  importance. 

"  But  in  the  midst  of  it  all," —  she  lowered  her  voice 
and  spoke  now  as  one  positively  beset  by  weighty  affairs  — 
"  I  keep  worrying  about  Julian.  Just  because," —  she 
glanced  back  at  him  as  he  stood  talking  "  Emergency 
Corps  "  with  Madge  — "  just  because  he  does  n't  in  the  least 
worry  about  himself.  Have  you  heard  about  the  way  his 
relations  are  behaving  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Napier,  disingenuously.  "  How  are  they 
behaving  ?  " 

"  Simply  abominably.  Some  of  his  friends,  too.  They 
cold-shoulder  him  in  private ;  and  in  public  —  they  cut 
him ! "  Her  eyes  gleamed  with  anger.  "  If  they  think 


THE  MESSENGEK  237 

that 's  the  way  to  discourage  Julian,  they  know  very  lit 
tle!" 

"  I  wish  some  one  would  discourage  him  from  rubbing 
my  old  man  the  wrong  way." 

"  He  does  n't  mean  to,"  she  said,  with  a  proprietary  air 
that  haunted  Gavan  afterwards,  "but,  you  see,  Sir  Wil 
liam  and  Julian  approach  everything  from  opposite  poles." 

Behind  his  soreness  and  annoyance,  Napier  was  secretly 
amused  at  "  the  child's  judicial  air,"  as  he  characterized  it 
to  himself.  "  At  opposite  poles,  are  they  ?  It  would  be 
interesting  to  know  what  they  were  —  those  '  poles.' ': 

"Oh,  you  think  I  don't  know?  Well,  I  do.  Sir  Wil 
liam's  idea  of  the  problem  of  government  is  the  same  as 
his  idea  of  the  problem  of  the  individual.  To  acquire. 
Julian's  is  to  apportion.  To  administer." 

"  Who  told  you  all  that  ?  "  he  inquired  gently. 

She  reddened.  "  You  can't  say  it  is  n't  so.  To  take 
care  of  other  people's  interests,"  repeated  the  parrot,  "  is 
the  only  way  to  take  care  of  your  own." 

"  Does  Julian  find  the  axiom  work  in  his  case  ?  " 

She  reflected  a  trifle  anxiously.  "  You  've  heard 
then?" 

"Heard  —  ?" 

"  His  father  has  cut  down  Julian's  income." 

No,  Napier  had  n't  heard  that,  but  he  was  n't  surprised. 
Nan  looked  at  him,  indignant. 

"  You  are  n't  surprised  ?  You  take  it  as  a  matter  of 
course !  "  She  turned  away  her  head  as  she  said,  "  Oh ! 
I  wish  I  could  just  once  see  his  mother  — "  She  stopped 
short.  After  considering  an  instant,  "  You  could  n't  man 
age  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 


238  THE  MESSENGER 

No,  that  was  n't  a  thing  Napier  could  manage.  He 
positively  welcomed  the  exclamation  from  Lady  Mclntyre 
which  cut  the  colloquy  short. 

"  Another  —  upon  my  word !  "  An  envelope  fluttered 
to  the  waste-paper  basket.  She  held  an  open  paper  in  her 
hand. 

"  Another  what,  mum  ?  "  Madge  left  Julian  to  lean 
over  her  mother's  shoulder.  "  Oh ! "  One  glance  was 
enough  for  Madge.  She  turned  away.  But  one  glance 
did  n't  suffice  for  Lady  Mclntyre.  "  It 's  too,  too  much !  " 
She  went  over  to  Sir  William,  who  had  withdrawn  with 
his  letters  to  the  window.  They  stood  talking  in  lowered 
voices. 

Nan's  inquiring  look  met  Madge's  offhand  explana 
tion  :  "  Another  of  Greta's  bills.  That  makes  £160,  just 
for  furs." 

"  Oh ! "  Nan  stood  up,  then,  in  an  access  of  shyness, 
"  Just  go  and  ask  your  mother  to  let  me  have  it." 

"  No  good !  "  Wildfire  shook  her  mane.  "  She  won't. 
She  thinks  you  've  had  enough  of  'em  sent  direct  to  you." 

"  Your  mother  does  n't  understand.  It 's  all  right. 
I  'm  taking  care  of  these  things  for  Greta." 

"  Have  you  had  another  letter  ?  "  Wildfire  demanded. 

"  No.  I  told  you  she  's  nursing  her  father  day  and  night. 
She  has  n't  time  to ;  besides,  it 's  understood." 

"Why  do  some  of  the  bills  come  to  us  and  some  to 
you?" 

Nan  stood  nonplussed  an  instant  and  then  said : 

"  It 's  all  right,  I  tell  you." 

"  You  mean  you  think  she 's  going  to  pay  you  back  ?  " 


THE  MESSENGER  239 

"Well,  of  course."  Nan  crossed  the  room  and  stood  a 
moment  in  front  of  Lady  Mclntyre,  with  hand  extended 
and  speaking  in  an  undertone. 

"  You  may  take  it  from  me  " —  Sir  William  did  n't 
moderate  his  tone — "Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  won't  pay 
the  money  back."  His  voice  rose  higher  over  the  low  pro 
test.  "  For  one  thing,  she  can't." 

"  You  think  she  has  n't  got  it  ?  "  Nan  inquired. 

"  Oh,  I  have  n't  much  doubt  she  's  got  it ;  but  even  if  she 
wanted  to  repay  you,  she  won't  be  allowed  to  send  money 
out  of  Germany." 

"  Surely  she  '11  be  allowed  to  pay  her  debts  ?  " 

"  Miss  Greta  would  tell  you,  '  No  trading  allowed  with 
the  enemy.' ';  Sir  William  dismissed  the  matter  with  de 
cision. 

"You  hear  that,  Julian?  Not  allowed  to  pay  her 
debts ! " 

Nan's  instinctive  turning  to  Julian  for  sympathy  and 
understanding  was  no  more  lost  on  Napier  than  Julian's 
comment,  "  There  's  no  end  to  the  little  wickednesses  of  war 
as  well  as  the  great  central  one."  He  threw  down  the  il 
lustrated  paper  he  'd  been  glancing  at  and  took  his  hat. 
"  Come  along,"  he  said  to  Nan  under  his  breath.  "  Let 's 
get  out  of  this." 

"  Good-by."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Napier  as  he 
stood  looking  at  the  paper  Sir  William  had  given  him. 
"  I  'm  sure,  if  you  are  n't,  Greta  did  n't  know  that  horrid 
new  rule." 

"  Good-by,"  was  all  Napier  said. 

"  Of  course  she  did  n't  know ! "  Julian  atoned  for  the 


240  THE  MESSENGER 

other's  omission.  "  Come,"  he  repeated  impatiently,  as 
Nan  stood  saying  last  things  to  Madge.  "  They  're  ex 
pecting  us." 

She  started.     "  Expecting  me  too  ?  " 

"Yes,  expecting  you." 

The  girl  glowed.     No  more  urging  needed. 

Napier  had,  even  then,  a  fairly  shrewd  idea  of  who  was 
expecting  them.  And  he  had  let  her  go  without  asking 
her  the  question  he  meant  to  ask !  Was  it  worth  while, 
after  all  ?  Was  n't  it  enough  to  know  that  since  Greta 
von  Schwarzenberg  had  left  bills  for  furs,  and  trunks,  and 
clothing  to  be  paid  for  by  her  friends,  she  would  inevit 
ably  leave  a  still  heavier  account  to  be  paid  for  by  her 
enemy  ?  Napier  "  paid "  every  time  he  met  Nan  Ellis, 
and  he  knew  he  paid. 

A  deep  disheartenment  laid  hold  of  him.  His  only 
escape  from  it  was  work.  Enough  of  that  and  to  spare. 
He  had  difficulty  in  finding  time  for  drill,  even  at  "the 
oddest  hours  " —  odd  for  a  young  gentleman  of  his  habits. 
Yet  for  the  work  that  lay  closest  to  his  heart  odd  hours 
were  all  that  Gavan  had.  This  came  about  partly  by  rea 
son  of  Sir  William's  increased  need  for,  and  increased  de 
pendence  on,  his  secretary,  partly  because  of  his  impatience 
with  the  desire  of  men  like  Gavan  to  join  their  university 
corps,  or  some  other  0.  T.  C.  "  and  waste  their  time  play 
ing  at  soldiers."  It  was  no  good  for  Gavan  to  remind 
Sir  William  of  the  lack  of  officers  to  fill  the  gaps  abroad, 
and  the  lack  of  instructors  at  home.  "  By  the  time  you  'd 
be  able  to  instruct  anybody  the  war  '11  be  over !  " 

And  still  Gavan  managed  double  duty  during  the  last 


THE  MESSENGER  241 

weeks  of  the  fateful  old  year  and  the  early  days  of  the 
problematic  new.  The  thoughts  of  people  at  home,  after 
following  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  the  bloody  November 
struggle  for  Ypres,  settled  now  on  those  survivors  who  were 
making  their  first  acquaintance  with  the  stark  misery  of 
winter  in  the  trenches.  It  stood  to  reason  this  sort  of 
thing  could  n't  go  on. 

The  next  thing  would  be  peace. 

Those  who  believed  in  Kitchener  agreed  that  no  man  as 
shrewd  as  K.  of  K.  had  ever  made  a  prophecy  so  absurd  on 
the  face  of  it  as  that  alleged  dictum  of  his,  "  The  war  will 
last  three  years."  The  only  way  of  understanding  it  was 
to  interpret  it  as  a  recruiting  call,  and  a  final  flourish  in 
the  face  of  the  Teuton.  K.  of  K.  must  have  100,000  men. 
Have  'em  at  once,  too.  Let  the  Germans  put  that  in  their 
pipes  and  smoke  it! 

Meanwhile  the  Germans  were  struggling  for  Calais  and 
bombarding  Eheims,  and  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  world 
President  Wilson  talked  peace. 

Napier  watched  the  gradual  khaki-ing  that  came  over 
the  male  population  of  the  United  Kingdom;  watched 
regiments  marching  by  day  to  the  tune  of  "  Tipperary," 
marching  by  night  very  quietly,  on  each  man's  shoulder 
a  long  white  bundle,  like  little  canvas  bolsters  —  men  on 
their  way  to  entrain  for  the  front,  following  in  the  wa.ke 
of  that  fourth  of  the  Expeditionary  Army  which  had  al 
ready  fallen.  With  as  little  publicity  as  possible,  hospitals 
multiplied.  People  began  to  look  upon  wounded  soldiers  in 
the  streets  without  that  shuddering,  first  passion  of  pity,  that 
mingled  gratitude  and  anger  at  the  price  exacted  of  those 
maimed  men.  "  The  price  of  our  present,  and  our  chil- 


242  THE  MESSENGER 

dren's  future  safety,"  said  the  many.  "  The  price  of  our 
past  blundering,"  said  the  few.  Of  these,  Julian,  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  rubbed  in  the  unwelcome 
truth. 

Napier  was  seeing  nearly  as  little  in  these  days  of  Julian 
as  of  Nan.  They  had  had  high  words  over  the  develop 
ment  and  intensification  of  Julian's  opposition  to  the  war, 
and  in  particular  over  his  strictures  on  the  Government. 
Napier  had  studiously  avoided  all  reference  to  Nan  Ellis. 
Such  efforts  as  had  been  possible  to  keep  in  touch  with  her 
were  mainly  unsuccessful.  He  had  a  minimum  of  time 
he  could  call  his  own,  and  she  apparently  had  none  at  all. 
She  was  never  at  the  little  flat  in  Westminster  except  late 
at  night,  and  she  was  seldom  in  Lowndes  Square.  Madge, 
too,  resented  this  preoccupation  on  the  part  of  her  new 
ally.  "  Oh,  don't  ask  me  where  she  is.  Gone  to  see  some 
of  Mr.  Grant's  queer  friends,  I  suppose." 

By  this  side  wind  and  that,  he  gathered  that  Nan  was 
being  swept  into  the  little  pacifico-philosophic  group  and 
was  thick  as  thieves  with  certain  men  and  women  whose 
names  were  beginning  to  be  anathema  to  the  general  pub 
lic.  Gradually,  in  Napier's  mind,  the  conviction  tight 
ened.  If  something  is  n't  done,  they  '11  not  only  have  made 
a  convert  of  tliat  girl,  they  '11  be  making  use  of  her  — 
some  use  or  other,  God  knew  what !  —  for  their  nefarious 
ends. 

Instead  of  Julian's  protecting  her,  he  'd  likely  as  not  do 
the  other  thing.  All  from  the  loftiest  motives! 

And  upon  that,  Napier's  first  motion  of  enmity  toward 
the  man  who  had  been  his  closest  friend.  Strangely  to  his 
own  sense,  with  far  more  bitterness  than  he  resented  Ju- 


THE  MESSENGEK  243 

lian's  notorious  anti-war  work,  Napier  would,  as  he  knew 
now,  resent  the  harnessing  of  the  airy  spirit  of  the  girl 
to  that  lumbering  and  ill-looked-on  car. 

What  was  to  be  done? 

He  had  stood  aside  out  of  loyalty  to  his  friend,  who 
was  also  (as  he  reminded  himself  a  thousand  times)  the 
first  comer  in  the  field.  The  field  of  private  feeling.  Yes. 
But  there  was  no  obligation  upon  Napier  to  stand  aside 
while  the  girl  he  loved  was  swamped  in  a  bog  of  disloyalty 
to  the  country,  and  of  personal  reprobation.  Worse.  Of 
personal  danger. 

No !  he  was  n't  going  to  look  on  at  that  and  not  raise  a 
hand.  The  old  struggle  which  he  thought  he  had  aban 
doned,  wearing  this  new  face,  became  possible  once  more. 
Possible?  It  became  inevitable.  For  it  had  become  a 
duty.  So  he  told  himself. 

The  trouble  was  that  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  was 
with  her,  something  in  the  new  post-Greta  manner  of  the 
girl  —  an  intangible  but  effectual  barrier  —  so  barred  the 
way  to  even  the  beginning  of  renewed  confidence,  that 
Napier,  over-w'orked,  over-anxious,  found  the  edge  of  his 
impulse  turned.  He  would  leave  her,  saying  to  himself, 
"  I  '11  have  this  out  with  Julian."  And  when  he  found 
himself  with  Julian  for  a  few  hasty  minutes,  "having  it 
out"  proved  so  baulked  and  inconclusive  a  business,  "I 
must  tackle  Nan,"  Napier  would  say  to  himself. 

Not  that  he  failed  altogether  to  tackle  Julian,  nor  to 
tackle  him  on  the  admittedly  burning  questions:  such  as 
Julian's  speech  introducing  a  deputation  to  the  Prime 
Minister,  or  that  highly  provocative  letter  assailing  British 
pre-war  diplomacy,  the  letter  rejected  by  the  "  Times  "  and 


244  THE  MESSENGEK 

"accepted,  of  course,  by  the  dingiest  radical  rag  in  the 
kingdom." 

"  They  are  using  you !  "  Napier  had  burst  out. 

"  I  am  content  to  be  used.     I  ask  nothing  better." 

More  quietly,  more  gravely,  Napier  agreed  it  was  a  thing 
about  which  a  man  must  be  his  own  judge.  But  by  so 
much  he  must  hesitate  to  judge  for  others.  "  The  Paci 
fists  are  making  a  cat's-paw  of  you,  I  tell  you.  If  you  like 
that  for  yourself  .  .  ."  he  shrugged.  Then,  abandoning 
his  momentary  return  to  the  laissez-aller  form  of  other 
days,  he  looked  straight  into  Julian's  eyes  and  with  an 
earnestness  that  would  have  enlightened  any  one  but  Grant, 
"  I  don't  know  how  you  reconcile  it  to  your  conscience  to 
involve  a  girl  in  such  .  .  ."  he  broke  off.  As  Julian  stooc7 
waiting  serenely :  "  A  girl  as  young  and  as  far  away  from 
home  — 

"  Nan !     Oh,  you  don't  know  Nan  !  " 

Another  time :  "  Why  drag  her  into  —  all  this  ? " 
Gavan  demanded.  "  It  is  n't  as  if  she  could  do  any 
thing." 

"  Oh,  can't  she !  " 

"  What,  in  the  name  of  — " 

Although  Julian  would  n't  answer,  an  opportunity  came 
to  put  the  question  to  Nan.  Napier  found  himself  sit 
ting  opposite  her  at  dinner  in  Lowndes  Square  on  the 
night  following  the  House  of  Commons  debate  on  German 
spies.  That  topic,  in  the  forefront  of  every  mind,  was 
ignored  by  tacit  consent.  Conversation  fell  for  a  few 
memorable  minutes  on  the  appalling  statement,  just  is- 


THE  MESSENGER  245 

sued  officially,  that  there  had  been  57,000  casualties  in  the 
British  Expeditionary  Force  up  to  the  end  of  October. 
How  many  had  fallen  since  in  the  bloody  struggle  about 
Ypres,  fiercest  of  the  war,  and  how  many  on  either  side 
would  survive  the  stark  misery  of  that  first  little-prepared- 
for  winter  in  the  trenches,  no  one  present  had  heart  to  ask. 
But  the  question,  urged  in  print  and  cried  from  platforms 
by  Julian  and  his  friends,  was  there  in  the  girl's  face. 

Sir  William  seemed  to  answer  by  saying  the  one  re 
deeming  feature  of  the  business  was  that  it  was  too  awful 
to  last.  The  Germans  must  see  they  have  failed. 

"  Why,"  the  girl  asked,  with  her  candid  eyes  on  her 
host,  "  if  the  Government  believed  that,  why  was  Lord 
Kitchener  calling  for  a  hundred  thousand  men  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  —  that  was  to  show  the  Germans  what  they 
had  to  expect  if  they  did  n't  come  to  their  senses." 

While  the  dessert  was  going  round,  she  got  up,  with  a 
look  at  the  clock  and  an  apology.  It  was  understood  that 
she  had  an  engagement. 

"Always  an  emergency  in  these  days,"  Sir  William 
mocked  pleasantly  at  the  Women's  Corps.  "  Gavan,  see 
they  get  her  a  taxi,  will  you  ?  " 

The  footman's  whistle  grew  fainter  as  Napier  helped  her 
into  her  coat.  They  had  n't  been  alone  since  those  hur 
ried  moments  on  the  platform  after  Greta  had  gone. 
Something  now  in  her  slight  awkwardness  as  she  struggled 
with  her  coat,  her  increased  anxiety  to  be  off  ("I  ought  to 
have  gone  ten  minutes  ago.  I  can  always  find  a  cab 
quicker  than  a  footman  ")  gave  Napier  a  feeling  that  he 
had  misinterpreted  her  avoidance.  Not  the  new  Greta- 
born  distrust  of  him,  but  distrust  of  herself.  His  heart 


246  THE  MESSENGEB 

rose  at  that  quick  conviction.  Kogers  would  n't  be  long, 
he  reassured  her,  and  then :  "  I  wish  he  might,  or,  rather, 
I  wish  I  had  n't  to  go  back  to  the  House  with  Sir  William. 
I  'd  take  you  wherever  it  is  you  are  going."  He  stopped 
suddenly. 

"Would  you?  Would  you  really?  That's  what  I've 
been  longing  to  ask.  You  would  n't  sit  dumb,  helpless, 
like  me  if  once  you  'd  heard  Julian  — " 

"  I  'm  under  the  impression  that  I  have  ( heard  Julian.'  " 

"  No !  no !  not  just  arguing  with  you.  I  mean  at  one  of 
the  meetings." 

"  I  see.     Where  I  can't  answer  back." 

"  And  now  you  ^re  looking  like  that !  "  She  turned  away 
with  nervous  abruptness,  but  he  had  interposed  between 
her  and  the  doorknob. 

"  And  you  —  have  you  any  idea  how  unhappy  you  are 
looking  ?  " 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  —  if  it  is,  as  Julian  says,  ( such  a 
brute  of  a  world.' '; 

"  Julian  ought  n't  to  think  so,"  Napier  said  bitterly. 
"  Julian  has  you  — " 

"  Oh,  has  he !     Poor  Julian !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  he  has  n't  ?  "     They  were  both  trembling. 

"  I  mean,  whether  he  has  or  has  n't,  we  are  n't  rid  of  the 
miserableness.  Once  you  are  started  wrong,  you  can't  get 
right,  it  seems.  Not  without — "  Suddenly  her  eyes 
filled.  A  shower  of  words  tumbled  out  in  a  shaken  whis 
per  :  "  At  first  —  oh,  for  long,  I  thought  you  hardly  knew 
I  was  there,  at  Kirklamont,  in  the  world!  Then,  when 
you  began  to  notice  me,  it  was  only  to  criticize  me.  Oh,  I 
used  to  see  you  laughing ;  not  with  your  mouth,  with  your 


THE  MESSENGER  247 

eyes.  You  laughed  at  Julian,  too,  for  thinking  I  was  all 
right."  She  broke  in  upon  his  protest,  which  was  none 
the  less  horrified  for  being  self-convicted. 

"  Yes,,  yes ;  you  tried  to  prevent  Julian  from  caring.  I 
could  have  forgiven  you  that,"  she  said,  with  her  look  of 
indignant  candor ;  "  yes,  I  could  easily  have  forgiven  you 
if  you  'd  done  it  from  any  nice  reason,  like  jealousy.  You 
did  n't  do  it  from  a  nice  reason."  Still  under  her  breath, 
she  hurled  it  at  him. 

"  Hush !  They  might  — "  he  glanced  at  the  dining- 
room  door. 

"  You  thought  I  should  n't  '  do.'  Julian  —  well,  maybe 
you  know  what  he  thought.  So  I  let  him  try  to  make  up 
to  me.  He  could  n't,  but  I  let  him  try.  And  what 's 
come  out  of  it  all  is  that  Julian  — " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know,  I  know." 

"  I  've  made  him  care !  I  've  made  him  build  on  me ! 
And  can't  you  see  " —  she  seemed  to  arraign  Napier's  own 
loyalty  as  she  stood  there  under  the  hall  light,  vehement, 
unhappy  — "  can't  you  see  Julian  needs  his  friends  now  as 
he  never  did  before  ?  "  In  the  little  pause  her  excitement 
mounted.  "  And  besides  that,  Julian 's  right  about  the 
war.  And  you  are  wrong.  Oh,  why  are  you !  "  she  cried 
out  of  the  aching  that  comes  of  conflict  between  love  of  a 
person  and  hate  of  his  creed. 

They  heard  a  taxi  stop.  She  caught  up  her  gloves. 
"Do  you  know  what  I  kept  thinking  at  dinner?  It's 
what  I  always  think  when  people  talk  like  Sir  William, 
about  letting  the  war  go  on  for  Kitchener's  three  mortal 
years.  I  kept  thinking  that  Julian  won't  ever  come  here 
again.  And  what  a  pity  it  was !  Unless  you  —  do  come 


248  THE  MESSENGEK 

and  hear  him,  Gavan,  with  me!     To-morrow  afternoon. 
Please!" 

"  I  'd  do  most  things  for  you,"  he  said ;  "  not  that." 

And  then  he  went  and  did  it.     At  least,  he  went  alone. 

Had  the  authorities  not  believed  that  outside  the  narrow 
—  so  narrow  as  to  be  negligible  —  limits  of  the  League 
for  a  Negotiated  Peace,  no  general  notice  would  be  taken 
of  so  unpopular  an  enterprise,  the  open-air  meeting  would 
have  been  interdicted.  The  authorities  had  not  reflected 
that  unpopularity,  if  only  it  is  great  enough,  is  as  sure  a 
draw  as  its  opposite. 

Napier  left  the  taxi  and  let  himself  be  carried  along  in 
the  human  current  to  a  place  opposite  that  part  of  the  im 
provised  platform  where  a  speaker  stood  facing  the  people. 
The  thick-set  figure  of  the  ex-member  of  Parliament  stood 
in  a  storm  of  booing,  of  derisive  shouts  and  groans  that 
ultimately  drowned  his  appeal. 

No  sooner  had  they  howled  him  down  than  a  much 
younger  man  stood  up  there  facing  the  crowd.  Julian. 
He  spoke  for  a  good  twenty,  minutes.  His  boyishness,  and 
that  something  of  moral  passion  that  compelled  you  to 
listen  to  Julian,  held  the  people  quiet  through  the  earlier 
minutes,  and  held  them  muttering  and  threatening  up  to 
the  bursting  of  the  storm. 

His  voice  reached  Napier  tired  and  hoarse : 

"  You  don't  believe  the  Germans  were  encircled  in  a 
band  of  iron  ?  You  don't  believe  they  had  n't  sufficient 
outlet  for  their  immense  capacities?  Oh,  no;  the  com 
mercial  greed  of  other  nations  did  n't  hem  them  in !  Tell 
me,  then,  what 's  behind  this  vast  discovery  of  German 


THE  MESSENGER  249 

activity  in  lands  not  their  own?  What  about  the  diffi 
culty  even  in  England  of  combing  them  out  of  commerce, 
out  of  clubs,  even  out  of  Parliament?  What  about  the 
hold  they  have  in  Sweden  and  Holland;  in  Genoa;  in 
South  America,  not  to  speak  of  the  United  States?  Now, 
notice.  No  other  nation  has  so  disseminated  itself  about 
the  globe  in  practical  activities.  What 's  the  reason  ?  Can 
you  answer  that?  Wrong.  The  reason  is  that  energy 
must  go  somewhere.  The  Germans  weren't  to  have  col 
onies  ;  they  were  n't  to  have  seaports,  not  openly.  So  they 
took  them  in  the  only  way  left.  They  took  them  by  a  vast, 
silent  effort  that  has  sown  the  German  broadcast  over  the 
world." 

Agreement  as  to  that  exploded  in  every  direction.  The 
speaker  strained  his  voice  to  dominate  the  din : 

"  They  did  n't  specially  love  us  —  the  Germans.  No ; 
nor  we  them,  perhaps." 

He  was  forced  to  wait  till  the  enthusiasm  which  greeted 
that  view  had  spent  itself. 

"  Now,  just  think  a  moment.  The  Germans  —  I  'm 
speaking  of  before  the  war,  remember  —  they  believed 
theirs  was  the  only  true  civilization." 

Wild  derision  from  the  English  cockneys.  The  few  sol 
diers  scattered  through  the  crowd  appeared  to  have  less 
emotion  to  expend  than  did  the  civilians.  They  listened 
stolidly.  In  the  first  lull  the  speaker  went  on : 

"  Now,  why  —  why  did  these  notorious  home-lovers  turn 
their  backs  on  what  for  them  was  the  only  true  civilization  ? 
Why  did  they  come  here  in  such  numbers  ?  " 

"'To  spy!" 

"  To  steal  our  jobs !  "       ' 


250  THE  MESSENGEE 

" '  Peaceful  penetration '  for  the  ends  of  war !  " 

"  Listen !  They  overran  us  and  other  countries  because 
we  prevented  the  legitimate  expansion  of  the  German  Em 
pire." 

High  and  clear  over  the  confused  shouting,  "  That 's  a 
lie ! "  a  voice  cried  angrily.  The  direct  charge  acted  like 
a  stimulant.  The  word  "  lie  "  was  caught  up  by  a  score 
of  throats. 

"  An'  why  ain't  'e  at  the  front?  " 

Above  the  increasing  disorder  Napier  caught  fragments 
from  the  platform: 

"Waste  places  of  the  earth,  crying  out  for  labor  and 
development.  Yes,  in  bitter  need  of  something  the  Ger 
man  could  give,  wanted  to  give  — " 

But  pandemonium  had  broken  loose,  and  reigned  irre 
sistible  for  some  moments.  As  the  wave  of  sound  ebbed, 
those  high,  fife-like  notes,  conquering  hoarseness  for  a  mo 
ment,  soared  above  the  din  and  over  the  bobbing  heads  of 
the  multitude: 

"  Waste  places !  Yet  we  grudged  even  the  waste  places 
to  that  supremely  hard-working  people.  Why  ?  " 

A  hail  of  answers,  every  one  a  stone  of  scorn. 

"  As  you  don't  seem  to  know  why  it  was  we  grudged 
these  places  to  the  Germans,  you  'd  better  let  me  tell  you. 
We  grudged  them  to  an  industrious  people  because  the 
people  were  n't  British  people.  What  happened  ?  No ! 
no!  no!  Listen!  The  Germans  —  the  Germans — " 

Cries  of  "  Belgium ! "  mixed  with  booing  and  cursing, 
drowned  the  voice  again  and  again  till  the  moment  when 
it  rose  with  "  they  "  in  lieu  of  the  word  intolerable. 

"  They  have  done  what  you  say.     I  'm  not  here  to  deny 


THE  MESSENGER  351 

it.  They  've  turned  the  most  fertile  lands  of  Europe  into 
wastes.  Why?  Because  we  refused  them  the  places  that 
were  already  waste.  Energy  must  go  somewhere.  En 
ergy  that  could  have  helped  to  save  the  world  has  gone  to 
the  devastation  of  Belgium,  to  the  ruin  of  France.  Gone 
to  the  torture  and  death  of  tens  of  thousands  of  British 
men.  Whose  fault  ?  Ours,  ours,  I  tell  you !  " 

A  roar  went  up  as  the  crowd  surged  forward.  Napier, 
carried  with  it,  saw  men  near  the  foot  of  the  platform 
gesticulating  wildly  with  clenched  fists  above  their  heads : 
"  Liar !  Pro-German !  " 

And  still  the  penny-whistle  voice  shrilled  clear  a  moment 
over  the  turgid  outpouring  of  muddy  minds: 

"  The  vast  crime,  the  unparalleled  lunacy  of  war !  If  I 
have  a  private  quarrel  and  I  kill  my  opponent,  I  am  hanged 
for  a  felon.  If  the  Government  I  live  under  has  a  public 
quarrel,  and  at  their  bidding  I  kill  some  man  I  never  saw 
before,  I  am  a  patriot.  No!  I  am  a  murderer." 

That  was  more  than  the  soldiers  could  stand.  They 
joined  in  the  rush  for  the  column.  Yet,  as  Napier  re 
membered  afterward,  the  soldiers  who  by  implication  had 
been  called  murderers  were  less  like  wild  beasts  in  their 
fury  than  the  men  who  had  stayed  at  home.  The  men 
were  n't  in  khaki  who  strove,  vainly  at  the  first  essay,  by 
dint  of  climbing  on  other  men's  shoulders,  to  storm  the 
platform. 

As  for  Napier,  he  would  never  have  been  able  to  get 
anywhere  near  the  speaker  but  that  his  precipitation  was 
taken  by  those  about  him  for  uncontrollable  rage.  Even 
with  the  aid  of  hatred  to  forge  him  a  way,  he  found  get 
ting  to  the  front  a  cursedly  impeded  business.  Then  came 


252  THE  MESSENGER 

that  moment  of  sheer  physical  sickness  at  his  closer  vision 
of  the  pack  of  wolves  ravening  below  the  unfriended  figure. 
Julian,  facing  the  onset,  facing  the  hate-inflamed  eyes  in 
heads  just  appearing  ahove  the  platform;  Julian  still  cry 
ing  peace  in  that  appalling  loneliness  which  typified  his  yet 
greater  loneliness  in  a  nation  and  a  time  given  up  to  war. 

Ruffians  with  villainous  faces,  and  simpletons  fired  with 
the  responsibility  of  standing  up  for  England,  doing  it  so 
safely,  too,  by  means  of  breaking  the  head  of  one  young 
gentleman  —  up  the  platform  they  scrambled  after  their 
ringleaders  and  closed  round  the  speaker. 

In  those  last  few  hard-won  yards  Napier  had  collected  a 
policeman.  But  above  the  attackers  had  fought  Julian, 
to  the  edge  of  the  platform.  Napier  had  an  instant's 
glimpse  of  him  with  a  splash  of  scarlet  down  his  face  be 
fore  they  threw  him  over. 

Upon  that,  a  new  emotion  seized  the  crowd  —  a  panic 
born  of  the  consciousness  of  limits  to  police  indifference. 
The  mass  swayed  and  broke  away  from  where  the  figure 
had  fallen.  There  were  plenty  of  policemen,  now  that  the 
need  for  their  intervention  was  past. 

Napier  shouted  to  them  for  an  ambulance,  as  he  ran 
forward.  Of  the  faces  bent  over  the  figure  lying  limp  at 
the  foot  of  the  platform,  one  was  lifted  —  Nan  Ellis's. 

"  Wait !  "  Napier  called  to  one  of  the  policemen.  "  Get 
that  lady  out  of  this,  will  you  ?  " 

But  the  lady  would  come  when  she  could  take  "  him  " 
along.  "  A  taxi,  please." 

Some  one  had  given  her  a  large-sized  pocket-handker 
chief.  She  made  a  bandage  and  tied  it  round  the  bleed- 


THE  MESSENGER  253 

ing  head.  Some  one  else  fetched  a  cab  for  the  lady.  And 
the  ambulance  would  be  there  in  a  minute. 

"  Oh,  he  '11  hate  the  ambulance !  Help  me  to  get  him  to 
the  cab !  "  she  besought. 

His  eyelids  opened,  and  he  moaned  a  little  as,  between 
Napier  and  one  of  the  policemen,  Julian  was  carried 
through  the  alley  which  had  been  opened  in  the  crowd. 
As  the  limp  figure  was  borne  past,  they  muttered  and 
jeered. 

"  Oh,  hush !  "  cried  a  voice.  "  Is  n't  it  enough  to  have 
nearly  killed  him  ?  "  Nan's  question  cut  its  way  through 
the  muttering  and  hate;  it  startled  the  people  into  mo 
mentary  silence.  But  when  the  little  procession  had  gained 
the  cab  and  were  driving  off,  the  anger  of  the  disin 
tegrated  mob  broke  out  afresh.  The  air  was  filled  with 
cries,  and  for  several  hundred  yards  men  and  boys  ran 
along  by  the  taxi,  shouting  insult  and  imprecation  through 
the  window. 

Napier  looked  out.  Not  one  of  those  foul-mouthed 
pursuers  wore  khaki  or  sailor's  blue. 

That  was  something. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

LATE  that  night  Gavan  left  a  note  in  Berkeley  Street, 
to  be  given  to  Lady  Grant  in  the  morning.     He  told 
her  that  he  had  got  a  doctor  and  a  nurse,  and  "  Julian  has 
come  off  better  than  I  could  have  believed/' 

Before  ten  o'clock  the  next  day  Lady  Grant  appeared  at 
her  son's  new  lodging,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  taking 
him  home  and  seeing  that  he  was  properly  attended  to. 
Julian,  in  a  fever  and  many  bandages,  flatly  refused  to  be 
moved.  There  was  a  grievous  scene. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  in  walked  Miss  Ellis.  The  same  eve 
ning,  comfortably  established  in  his  old  Berkeley  Street 
bedroom,  Julian  in  a  few  faint  sentences  put  Napier  in 
possession  of  the  issue  of  that  encounter  of  the  morning. 

"  Nan  turned  against  me.  She  and  my  mother  together 
are  too  many  for  me." 

In  those  next  days  Gavan  ran  in  whenever  he  had  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  to  find  a  Julian  very  weak,  yet  in  be 
wildering  good  spirits,  visited  daily  by  Nan,  and  even,  for 
the  term  of  the  exigency,  received  back  into  his  mother's 
favor. 

"  Do  they  meet,  those  two  ?  "  Arthur  asked. 

"  My  mother  and  Nan  ?  Rather.  They  get  along  like 
a  house  afire." 

If  Napier  had  doubted  that  before,  he  doubted  no  longer 
after  a  little  talk  down  in  the  drawing-room  with  Lady 

254 


THE  MESSENGEK  255 

Grant  on  a  certain  gloomy  evening  toward  Christmas. 
Whispers  had  begun  to  be  heard  in  privileged  circles  of 
British  shell  shortage  at  the  Front.  The  Germans  had 
shells  to  spare.  They  had  been  bombarding  Scarborough, 
Hartlepool,  and  Whitby;  five  hundred  casualties,  the  pa 
pers  said. 

In  spite  of  all  the  evil  news,  Julian  was  better.  You 
could  read  that  in  his  mother's  face. 

"  I  believe  he  '11  be  able  to  go  over  to  America  early  in 
the  new  year,"  she  said. 

"  To  America !  "  Napier  repeated,  slightly  dazed. 

"  It  would  be  everything  to  have  him  out  of  England 
till  the  war  is  over."  Julian's  mother  had  broached  the 
idea  to  Miss  Kan.  "  I  've  had  my  eye  on  that  young 
woman.  It 's  true  she  takes  Julian's  mad  ideas  for  the  law 
and  the  prophets,  but  so  a  wife  should.  Julian  might  do 
worse,  don't  you  agree  ?  " 

"  Then  —  they  're  engaged !  "  was  all  that  Napier  could 
bring  out. 

"  Not  properly  engaged,  I  gather.  But  when  was  Julian 
properly  anything  ?  The  girl 's  no  fool.  She  has  natur 
ally  thought  we  shouldn't  like  it,  so  I  took  occasion  to 
say  a  word  to  her.  She  looked  rather  confused,"  said  the 
lady  reflectively.  "  She  must  have  been  confused,  for 
what  do  you  think. she  said?  That  I  had  misunderstood. 
That  she  had  never  said  she  would  marry  Julian.  I  told 
her  he  was  an  odd  creature,  but  I  was  sure  that  was  what 
he  wanted.  '  And  I  can't  be  wrong  in  thinking  you  care 
for  him,'  I  said.  And  then  she  burst  out  with:  'How 
can  I  help  caring  about  anybody  with  such  a  perfectly 
beautiful  nature  as  Julian ! '  Was  n't  that  American  ?  " 


256  THE  MESSENGEK 

Lady  Grant  smiled.  "  I  told  her  I  would  make  Sir  James 
see  it  as  I  did,  and  that  it  would  all  come  right." 

Julian's  way  of  helping  it  all  to  •"  come  right "  was  to 
employ  his  convalescence  in  carrying  on  the  propaganda 
from  his  sick  bed  with  unabated  ardor ;  or,  rather,  an  ardor 
increased  by  the  excitement  of  its  transmission  largely 
through  Nan  Ellis. 

That  name  of  "  Messenger  "  which  Napier  had  secretly 
given  her  recurred  to  him  again  and  again.  Messenger, 
indeed!  carrying  contraband,  not  to  say  high  explosive,  to 
and  from  the  sober  precincts  of  Berkeley  Street ! 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  Nan  showed  no  sign  of  revolt 
against  being  made  the  agent  of  this  traffic.  The  cold 
truth  was  that  she  liked  it.  That  was  the  heart-breaking 
thing  about  the  whole  sorry  business.  She  would  come 
back  from  private  talks  with  Julian's  revolutionary  friends, 
from  semi-public  meetings,  electric  with  excitement,  brim 
ming  with  her  news.  Julian's  eagerness  to  hear  and  hers 
to  tell  did  not  always  await  the  more  private  hour. 

Nan's  air  of  tumbling  it  all  out,  equally  without  selective 
care  and  without  consciousness  of  offense,  did  much  to 
ease  the  situation  between  Julian  and  his  mother.  Their 
relationship  had  been  too  embittered  to  allow  them  any 
more  to  discuss  these  things.  And  here  was  some  one 
wholly  forgetting,  if  she  had  ever  heard,  that  constraint- 
breeding,  melancholy  fact;  some  one  who  pronounced  the 
words  abhorred  in  an  even,  every-day  voice,  smiled  the 
while,  and  sat  at  her  ease.  Too  newly  Julian  had  skirted 
death  for  his  mother  not  to  make  shift  to  endure  that  which 
first  brought  back  the  hues  and  lights  of  life  to  the  corpse- 
white  face. 


THE  MESSENGEE  257 

Lady  Grant  did,  to  be  sure,  tighten  her  lips  and  stiffen 
her  back  in  face  of  some  of  the  talk  that  went  on  across 
her  son's  paper-strewn  bed-table. 

During  one  of  Napier's  visits,  he  had  seen  her  rise  and 
leave  the  room.  When  she  came  back,  she  found  Julian 
laughing  as  he  had  n't  for  many  a  day.  Ultimately  Lady 
Grant  was  able  to  confront  the  familiar  mention  of  per 
sons  ostracized  and  implications  outrageous  with  that  pa 
tience  women  know  how  to  draw  upon  in  dealing  with  their 
sick. 

Sometimes  the  messenger  did  n't  spare  the  mixed  au 
dience  in  Berkeley  Street  a  graver,  more  passionate 
mood. 

"  Mr.  Lazenby  was  wonderful,  talking  about  the  awful 
casualty  lists,  and  the  way  sheer  hate  is  shriveling  up 
men's  minds.  I  do  wish  you  'd  heard,  Julian,  what  he 
said  about  America  and  what  President  Wilson  might  do 
for  peace." 

"By  minding  his  own  affairs  and  not  interfering  with 
our  blockade?  Yes."  For  once  Lady  Grant  and  her 
enemies  were  in  accord. 

"  I  told  them,"  N"an  went  on,  smiling  at  Julian,  "  that 
you  said  the  President  had  the  greatest  opportunity  in  all 
history.  '  Eggs-actly ! '  "  she  lifted  and  brought  down  her 
slim  arm  in  accurate  reproduction  of  Lazenby's  sledge 
hammer  gesture :  "  '  The  President  of  the  United  States 
is  the  man  to  go  for ! '  They  had  cheered  that.  ' —  The 
man  with  a  more  absolute  power  and  a  greater  range  of 
action  that  any  ruler  on  the  earth  to-day ! ' : 

"  Just  so !  "  Lady  Grant's  deep  voice  came  down  more 
quietly  but  hardly  less  heavy  than  Lazenby's  hammer, 


258  THE  MESSENGER 

" — Raging  socialists  building  all  their  hopes  on  the  irre 
sponsible  Despot." 

"Oh  ...  Despots ! "  Miss  Nan  appeared  to  pass  these 
gentlemen  in  mental  review.  "  Do  you  know,  they  've  done 
something  more  outrageous  than  ever  ?  " 

Now  we  '11  have  it,  Gavan  thought  to  himself.  He  had 
been  conscious  on  this  particular  evening  of  an  under 
current  of  emotion  in  the  smooth  stream  of  the  girl's  talk 
—  a  peculiar  shining  in  her  eyes,  that  perplexed  him.  It 
certainly  was  n't  happiness.  She  was  for  once  keeping 
back  something. 

"  I  told  you,"  she  said  suddenly  to  Julian,  with  that  new 
intimacy  which  seemed  to  clear  the  room  of  other  occu 
pants,  "  I  told  you  Mr.  Oswin  Norfolk's  book  was  prac 
tically  finished.  Yes.  Well,  the  authorities  are  n't  going 
to  let  it  be  published." 

"  What!  "  Julian  very  nearly  leaped  out  of  bed.  "  Sup 
press  the  greatest  contribution  to  sane  thinking  since 
'  Progress  and  Poverty  '  ?  To  dare  to  ban  the  '  Philosophy 
of  Force '  and  pretend  we  are  fighting  for  liberty ! " 

"You  ought  not  to  have  told  him,"  Lady  Grant  re 
proached  the  girl. 

Julian  caught  his  mother  up.  "  Not  tell  me  ?  Of 
course  she  had  to  tell  me.  She  knows  if  she  did  n't  bring 
me  the  news  here,  I  'd  have  to  go  where  I  could  depend  on 
getting  it." 

His  mother  exchanged  looks  with  Gavan. 

"I  told  them  what  I'd  do."  Nan  said  it  with  that 
little  catch  of  excitement  in  her  voice.  "  I  'd  get  Mr. 
Oswin  Norfolk's  book  over  to  America.  They  wouldn't 
be  afraid  to  publish  it  over  there." 


THE  MESSENGER  259 

"Why  should  they?  The  Americans  aren't  standing 
in  the  breach,"  said  Lady  Grant,  with  heightened  color. 

Nan  looked  away.  Her  mouth  quivered  a  little.  It 
was  clear  that  she  was  reminding  herself,  Julian's  mother ! 

"  America !  The  very  thing !  "  In  the  baggy  dressing- 
gown  Julian  had  twisted  the  upper  part  of  his  thin  body 
sidewise,  leaning  towards  the  messenger. 

"  The  trouble  is,"  she  began  in  a  lower  voice,  and  then 
hesitated. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  His  impatience  made  him  ir 
ritable.  "  You  are  n't  so  silly  as  to  suppose  we  can't  say 
what  we  like  before  Gavan  and  my  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  no,"  she  answered  with  a  haste  that  convicted 
her.  "  I  was  just  going  to  tell  you  Mr.  Norfolk  seems  to 
think  " —  and  for  all  Julian's  assurance  and  her  own  ac 
ceptance  of  it,  her  voice  sank — "the  mails  aren't  safe." 

"Not  safe?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  any  more.  Mr.  Norfolk  says  there  's  a  —  a  super 
vision  already." 

"What?" 

"  Oh,  not  openly." 

"  A  secret  censorship !  Hah !  Hear  that  ?  "  he  chal 
lenged  his  friend.  "  That 's  what  your  policy 's  come  to !  " 

"What  makes  Norfolk  think — "  Gavan  began  at  his 
calmest. 

"  He  doesn't  think.  He  knows."  There  was  a  little 
pause.  "  Things  don't  get  through.  And  the  things 
that  don't  get  through,  they  're  always,  he  says,  things  of 
a  certain  kind."  She  broke  the  strain  of  the  next  few  mo 
ments'  silence.  "  I  said  if  they  did  n't  trust  the  mails 


260  THE  MESSENGEE 

why  shouldn't  Mr.  Norfolk  take  his  book  over  along  with 
your  '  League  of  Nations  Manifesto '  that  they  're  all  so 
wanting  to  get  into  President  Wilson's  hands.  They 
asked  me  what  I  thought  the  inspectors  would  be  doing 
while  Mr.  Norfolk  was  walking  about  with  contraband 
literature  under  his  arm.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  an  ex 
cuse  ?  I  said :  '  Do  you  think  the  inspectors  would  stop 
you  ?  Well,  the  inspectors  would  n't  stop  me ! '  Yes," 
she  added  in  a  slightly  offended  tone,  "  they  laughed,  too. 
I  did  n't  mind  that  so  much  as  to  see  them  accepting  the 
—  interference,  and  just  sitting  there.  Talking !  It  made 
me  wild.  '  Do  you  really  want  to  get  that  into  the  Presi 
dent's  hands  ? '  I  asked  them.  '  Very  well.  You  give  it 
to  me.' " 

"  You  'd  take  it !  "  The  involuntary  exclamation  slipped 
over  Gavan's  lips. 

Julian  had  n't  needed  to  ask. 

"  You  darling !  "     He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Nan,  with  flushed  dignity. 
"  And,  anyhow,  Mr.  Norfolk  won't  trust  me  with  his 
precious  book.  e  Let  me  take  Mr.  Grant's  "  Manifesto," 
then,'  I  said.  But  they  seemed  to  think  the  ( Manifesto 
was  still  more  what  they  called  '  inflammable-  material  at 
this  juncture.'  'It  would  be  better  for  you  to  be  found 
with  a  bomb  in  your  trunk,'  they  said." 

"  They  are  bound  to  consider  the  question  of  personal 
risk,"  said  Arthur,  seriously. 

"  What  risk?  Nobody  can  tell  me  that.  I  'm  an  Amer 
ican.  The  British  Government  has  n't  any  right  to  tell 
me  what  I  may  carry  to  my  own  country.  Besides,  they 
wouldn't  find  it.  And  suppose  they  did,  the  English 


THE  MESSENGER  261 

could  n't  shoot  me.  I  told  them  this  afternoon,  '  I  'm  not 
bound  by  your  horrid  war  regulations.'  But  no,"  she  said 
lugubriously  through  the  others'  smiling,  "  they  won't  send 
me.  Everybody  's  afraid." 

"  Except  you  and  me,  Nan."  Julian  held  out  a  hand 
again,  his  eyes  shining  in  his  moved  face.  "  It 's  a  great- 
bond." 

Gavan  recognized  the  fact  now,  and  all  its  implications, 
that  Julian,  with  his  pale  halo  of  martyrdom,  was  able 
to  draw  closer  to  the  girl  than  anybody  else  on  her  idealist 
side.  Politics  ?  She  was  n't  thinking  about  the  future  of 
governments  and  the  stamp  to  be  set  on  civilization,  Napier 
told  himself.  She  was  thinking  that  bayonet  work  was 
cruel  and  revolting.  She  was  prepared  to  let  the  great 
ideals  be  bayonetted  like  the  babies  of  the  Belgian  stories, 
rather  than  let  the  war  go  on ! 

The  last  time  Gavan  was  ever  to  see  those  two  together 
was  one  evening  toward  the  end  of  January,  about  half- 
past  six.  Julian's  convalescence,  not  so  rapid  as  his  mother 
expected,  was  steadily  progressing.  The  newsboys,  at  that 
period  still  vocal  in  London  streets,  were  shouting: 
"  Zepp  raid !  Bombs  dropped  on  King's  Lynn ! "  as 
Gavan  was  admitted  at  the  Grants'  door.  Nan  was  coming 
downstairs. 

"  And  where  are  you  off  to  this  time  ?  "  He  led  her 
into  Sir  James's  library.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  hear  of  you 
on  the  Nelson  plinth  next,  being  pelted." 

She  seemed  not  yet  to  have  received  that  mandate.  But 
again  she  was  full  of  America,  what  America  was  to  do 
for  the  war-maddened  world,  America  and  the  labor  parties 
everywhere. 


262  THE  MESSENGER 

Away  from  that  slavery  to  sickroom  sensibilities,  Gavan 
couldn't  bear  it.  With  a  vehemence  foreign  to  him,  he 
poured  out  his  indictment  against  a  divided  national  pol 
icy,  against  the  treason  of  weakening  the  home  front.  He 
flayed  the  stop-the-war  people  as  though  a  prince  of  the 
peacemongers  weren't  lying  in  the  room  above.  Their 
colossal  ineptitude  in  thinking  they  alone  really  want 
peace!  They  had  sent  deputations  to  Sir  William,  who 
had  just  lost  his  second  son ! 

"  Not  Niel !     Oh,  Gavan,  Mel !  " 

"  Yes,  blown  to  atoms  at  Soissons." 

"  Niel !  Niel,  too !  "  she  cried.  "  If  only  they  had  been 
able  to  stop  it  in  time !  " 

"  Stop  it !  Stop  men  from  going  into  a  war  like  this ! 
I  'm  not  an  idealist  myself," —  he  could  n't,  to  save  his 
life,  keep  bitterness  out  of  his  voice — "but  I  do  know 
there  have  been  men  who  went  into  this  war  to  defend  the 
weak  and  to  right  wrong.  A  good  many  of  those  men 
can't  speak  for  themselves  any  longer  — "  For  a  moment 
even  Gavan  could  n't  speak  for  them.  He  began  again  in 
a  level  voice,  "  In  those  casualty»lists  —  nearly  every  friend 
I  had." 

"  Not  the  greatest  friend  of  all ;  not  Julian." 

"  Except  Julian,"  he  said  dully,  "  our  lot  is  practically 
wiped  out.  And  now  the  younger  men,  the  boys,  Niel  and 
the  rest.  They  go  and  they  go."  He  turned  on  her  with  a 
vehemence  that  cloaked  his  emotion.  "  I  'm  not  saying 
that  all  the  men  out  there  feel  the  same  about  the  war, 
but  they  fight  on,  some  of  them  because  —  other  men  have 
died  and  mustn't  have  died  in  vain.  The  dead  are  the 


THE  MESSENGER  263 

beat  recruiters.  It 's  the  dead  call  the  loudest,  *  Come, 
join  up ! ' ; 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"The  dead  can't  speak  for  themselves.  I  wish  they 
could.  Soldiers  —  people  who  've  been  in  it  —  are  n't  half 
so  hot  for  going  on  with  the  struggle  as  a  civilian  like 
you." 

"  I  'm  not  a  civilian.  I  'm  gazetted  to  the  Scottish  Bor 
derers.  This  is  the  last  time  I  '11  see  you." 

"  Oh,  Gavan !  "     She  held  up  her  shaking  hands. 

He  longed  to  beg  her  forgiveness,  to  say  he  had  n't 
meant  in  the  very  least  to  tell  her  like  that;  but  all  he 
could  do  was  to  explain,  "  The  last,  I  mean,  till  I  get  my 
first  leave,"  he  ended  in  his  most  casual  voice. 

"  Oh,  Gavan ! "  she  repeated.  And  then  she  turned 
abruptly  and  went  out  of  the  room.  Left  him  standing 
there.  Not  even  good-by. 

It  had  been  hard  enough  for  Gavan  to  arrange  it  even 
before  that  awful  news  about  Niel. 

"  You  are  n't  fit,"  Sir  William  had  stormed.  When  he 
calmed  down  a  little,  he  went  and  had  another  talk  with 
the  doctor.  No  medical  man  who  knew  his  business  would 
pass  Mr.  Napier,  Sir  William  was  told;  but  the  need  for 
officers  was  great.  Mr.  Napier  would  have  his  way.  In 
the  final  issue  Sir  William  had  his. 

The  very  same  evening  of  the  interview  with  Nan  this 
new  thing  had  been  sprung  on  Napier. 

Something,  Sir  William  said,  that  Gavan  could  do  for 
the  country  that  the  country  needed  more  than  it  needed 


264  THE  MESSENGER 

another  amateur  officer  at  the  Front.  Gavan  was  to  go 
to  America  by  the  first  ship  on  a  secret  mission. 

The  newly  commissioned  officer  protested  with  all  his 
might.  He  had  no  experience  of  missions,  secret  or  other 
wise;  he  had  no  experience  of  America.  Nevertheless, 
there  were  others  in  high  places  who  agreed  with  Sir  Wil 
liam.  In  the  scarcity  of  suitable  men  at  that  particular 
crisis,  and  in  view  of  the  confidence  felt  in  Napier  by  the 
authorities,  they  were  in  agreement  as  to  the  advisability 
of  despatching  him,  in  addition  to  the  practical  expert 
from  the  Admiralty  already  over  there,  to  pay  a  private 
visit  to  America,  in  the  course  of  which  certain  government 
contracts  for  munitions  of  war  were  to  be  effected  — 
quietly,  without  rousing  pro-German  opposition. 

The  exigency  was  put  to  Napier  in  a  way  difficult  to 
meet.  He  had  himself  seen  regiments  of  men  in  training 
for  months  in  civilian  clothes,  and  who  had  never  held  a 
firearm  in  their  hands.  He  had  seen  an  entire  camp  drill 
ing  with  dummy  rifles.  He  was  aware  of  the  lack  even 
of  the  plants  necessary  to  turn  out  rifles  to  equip  a  quarter 
of  the  recruits  called  for.  And  now  Sir  William  told  him 
the  secret  of  the  shortage  of  ammunition  for  British  troops 
already  at  the  Front. 

"  We  've  sent  our  men  out  there  to  face  the  German 
guns,  and  our  men  can't  reply !  We  've  got  to  have  guns 
and  shells  and  rifles  .  .  .  everything.  We  've  got  to  get 
them  from  America.  You  've  got  to  get  them  from  Amer 
ica;  you  and  Jameson." 

Sir  William  quoted  yet  another  reason  besides  the  main 
ones  given,  for  Gavan  Napier's  being  the  man  to  go;  his 


THE  MESSENGER  265 

personal  friendship  with  one  of  the  chief  of  that  group 
called  "  Steel  Kings  "  overseas. 

As  usual  in  the  case  of  projects  with  which  William  Mc- 
Intyre  had  most  to  do,  this  one  was  quickly  shaped  and 
smartly  carried  through.  Time  was  the  essence  of  Napier's 
mission  to  America,  not  only  in  view  of  the  needs  of  our 
men  in  France,  but  in  order  that  neither  the  other  neutral 
governments  nor  the  Central  empires  should  know  of  the 
attempt  to  tide  over  the  interval  of  scarcity  before  the 
munition  plants  of  Great  Britain  should  be  established 
and  the  output  secure. 

The  night  before  he  left  England,  Napier  received  his 
final  sailing  orders  during  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  with  Sir 
William  at  the  club.  The  privacy  of  those  last  minutes 
was  broken  in  upon  by  Tommy  Durrant,  hot-foot  on  Sir 
William's  traces.  Tommy  was  just  back  from  the  Front. 
Something  ought  to  be  done,  according  to  Tommy,  to  lessen 
the  ineffectiveness  of  the  inspectors  of  refugees  crossing 
over  to  England.  He  retailed  the  story  then  going  the 
rounds  about  a  man  who  spoke  Walloon  all  right,  arm 
bandaged,  sling  —  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Somebody  on 
the  boat  did  n't  like  the  look  of  him,  and  had  the  wit  to 
ask  to  see  his  wound.  He  was  very  sensitive  about  show 
ing  his  wound.  It  was  not  unnatural,  "doctor's  orders," 
and  that  kind  of  thing.  An  E.  A.  M.  C.  man  got  the 
landing  authorities  to  insist.  Fearful  shindy !  Fella's 
arm  as  sound  as  Tommy's  own.  Did  n't  Sir  William  be 
lieve  it  ?  Very  well,  then.  Not  five  hours  ago,  as  Tommy 
was  waiting  to  get  through  the  barrier  on  this  side,  he  had 
noticed  a  Belgian  nun.  He  'd  seen  lots  of  nuns.  Why 


266  THE  MESSENGER 

should  he  have  noticed  this  one  ?  Could  n't  make  out  till 
she  turned  her  head  with  a  backward  lorok  just  as  she  dis 
appeared.  "  And  it  was  that  woman  who  used  to  be  at 
your  house,  Sir  William;  the  governess." 

Napier's  heart  failed  him  for  one  sick  moment.  To  be 
leaving  England  at  the  very  moment  of  Greta  von 
Schwarzenberg's  return !  Tommy  was  asking  Sir  William 
why  "  a  lady  like  that "  should  be  coming  back  here  in 
disguise.  Surely  there  was-  something  very  fishy  about  it. 

"  Well,  you  say  you  've  reported  to  Scotland  Yard.  Let 
them  deal  with  it ! "  Sir  William  rattled  his  seals  im 
patiently. 

Poor  Tommy  was  having  no  success  at  all  with  his 
news.  It  was  plain  that  Sir  William  was  more  annoyed 
at  being  made  a  participant  than  at  the  fact  itself. 
Napier  could  n't  refrain  from  warning  him. 

"  She  '11  be  trying  to  get  into  communication  with  Miss 
Ellis  — with  Madge." 

Tommy,  more  considerate,  soothed  Sir  William. 

"  She  won't  risk  that,  whatever  's  the  explanation  of  her 
slinking  back.  She  '11  lay  low  for  a  while,  anyway." 
Tommy  registered  his  conviction,  "  She  saw  I  'd  recognized 
her,  and  did  n't  love  me  for  it." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  GOOD  part  of  that  last  night  in  London,  Napier 
spent  in  writing  Nan  a  full  account  of  the  results 
of  Singleton's  visit  to  Lamborough.  He  wound  up  by 
warning  her  that  Greta  was  in  London,  disguised  as  a 
Belgian  refugee.  Moreover,  Scotland  Yard  would  have 
full  and  accurate  knowledge  of  those  with  whom  the 
woman  held  any,  even  the  slightest  and  most  innocent, 
communication. 

He  sealed  the  letter  and  left  it  in  the  trusty  keeping  of 
his  servant.  The  packet  was  not  to  go  out  of  Day's  hands 
except  to  be  placed  in  those  of  Miss  Ellis. 

Napier's  secret  was  well  kept.  His  own  family  had  so 
little  idea  of  his  change  of  plan  that  until  he  had  cabled 
them  from  New  York,  they  supposed  him  to  have  van 
ished,  in  the  now  familiar  way,  into  the  B.  E.  F. 

Before  ever  the  Atlantic  liner  left  the  docks,  Napier's 
eyes,  or  rather,  his  ears,  in  the  first  instance,  began  to 
open.  What  they  took  in  was  the  fact  of  the  singular  per 
vasiveness  of  the  German  tongue.  On  examining  the 
speakers,  they  were  seen  to  be  men  young  or  youngish  and 
certainly  Kriegsfahig.  The  stamp  that  the  German  sys 
tem  sets  on  the  person  who  has  been  trained  to  military 
command  differentiated  certain  of  these  foreign-speaking 
passengers  from  the  ordinary  reservist.  There  were  at 
least  four  Germans  of  good  military  rank  on  board,  no 

267 


268  THE  MESSENGER 

doubt  calling  themselves  "  Americans  returning  to  their 
American  homes."  Here  was  a  chance  to  observe  at  short 
range  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties  of  those  days :  how  was 
England  to  safeguard  herself  without  wounding  the  sus 
ceptibilities  of  a  friendly,  but  officially  neutral,  nation  ? 

As  he  shouldered  a  way  among  his  alien  enemies,  that 
new,  involuntary  hatred  of  the  Teuton  accent  may  have 
played  some  part  in  the  rapture  with  which  his  ears  greeted 
a  voice  not  English,  indeed,  yet  sounding  for  him  its  spe 
cial  harmonies. 

He  turned  with  a  leap  of  the  heart  toward  the  voice  that 
floated  up  from  the  crowd  pressing  to  the  gangway,  a 
voice  that  called  out  to  a  porter  something  about  a  "  green 
suit-case."  Looking  down  from,  the  height  of  the  tall  ship, 
for  all  his  hungry  eagerness,  he  could  n't  see  the  face  that 
went  with  that  voice,  nothing  but  hats :  men's  soft  felts 
and  hard  bowlers;  the  feathers  and  ribbons  of  ladies' 
headgear.  Then  came  a  moment  when,  among  them  all, 
a  little  cap  of  brown  came  slowly  up  on  its  golden  wings 
till  it  landed  Fan  Ellis  on  the  deck. 

This  latest  manifestation  of  the  cap  of  magic  produced 
in  Napier's  mind  a  medley  of  instinctive  joy,  an  utter  be 
wilderment,  and  that  readiness  of  acceptance,  apparently 
without  effort  or  cost,  with  which  we  greet  those  strokes 
of  fortune  whose  strangeness  throws  us  back  on  the  essen 
tial  mystery  through  which  the  most  commonplace  of  us 
daily  threads  his  way. 

Her  first  words  in  another  mouth  would  have  been  an 
intolerable  irony: 

"  So  this  is  how  you  go  to  the  Front !  "  He  was  glad  of 
the  quick  flush  that  rose  to  ask  his  pardon. 


THE  MESSENGEK  269 

"  To  accept  the  worst  construction  on  my  being  here," 
he  answered,  smiling,  "  I  am  not  the  only  shuttle 
cock." 

She  evaded  the  explanation  of  her  own  presence  with  a 
speech  that  even  at  the  time  struck  Napier  as  being  more 
odd  than  her  apparition  on  board  the  Britannia. 

"  Forgive  me  for  saying  that.  I  know,  wherever  you 
are  in  these  days,  you  are  at  the  Front." 

It  was  something.  It  was  undoubtedly  too  much,  and 
yet  it  comforted.  The  eager  hope  rose  in  him:  she  had 
come  to  know  of  Greta's  return.  Without  Napier's  inter 
vention,  she  had  come  to  know  of  matters  in  that  connec 
tion  which  had  made  her  flee.  Hardly  was  the  hope 
framed  when  it  was  dashed. 

"  I  got  tired  of  waiting  to  hear  from  Greta,"  she  ex 
plained.  Besides,  she  had  a  feeling  she  couldn't  go  on. 
She  'd  written  him  that.  To  show  him  she  really  had  got 
off,  the  letter  was  to  be  posted  from  Queenstown.  It  was 
in  —  Heavens !  where  was  the  green  suit-case  ?  Seeing 
him  had  put  it  out  of  her  head. 

Oh,  Napier  would  look  for,  he  would  find,  the  green 
suit-case ! 

But,  no,  she  dashed  after  him.  "  Certainly  not,"  she 
faltered  as  she  caught  him  up,  unless  by  any  chance  she 
should  n't  find  it  in  her  cabin.  With  consternation  in  her 
face,  she  flew  down  the  companion-way. 

Serenity  had  returned  when  Napier  met  her  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  later  on  the  way  to  the  dining-saloon. 

"  It 's  a  wonder  I  knew  you,"  he  said,  "  in  a  different 
hat." 

"  Can't  wear  the  Mercury  on  board  ship.     But  I  won't 


270  THE  MESSENGEK 

have  you  mocking  at  it."  She  stood  with  several  letters 
in  her  hand. 

"  Why  may  n't  I  mock  at  a  Mercury  cap  if  I  like  ?  " 
He  remembered  he  had  n't  waited  till  now  to  commit  that 
indiscretion. 

"Because  my  Mercury  cap  is  your  responsibility." 

«My—" 

"  You  've  forgotten  already !  "  .  As  they  went  down,  she 
reminded  him  of  that  time  she  appeared  in  the  blue  hat 
with  Michaelmas  daisies.  "  You  perfectly  hated  it." 
Yes,  he  remembered  he  had  n't  liked  it.  And  Julian  had 
quoted  Herbert  Spencer.  Nobody  was  ever  satisfied  with 
hitting  on  the  right  thing.  If  a  person  found  a  special 
kind  of  ink-pot  that  suited  him,  or  a  milk- jug  that  would 
pour  without  spilling,  or  clothes  that  were  just  right,  "  we 
were  so  certain  to  want  a  change  that  the  same  thing  was  n't 
made  again,"  Miss  Nan  supplemented.  "  But  my  same- 
shaped  hat  has  been  made  again  and  again,  and  you  never 
noticed !  That 's  all  I  get." 

It  was  only  to  himself  that  Napier  said :  "  No !  no ! 
She  got  more  —  more  than  was  wise  or  well." 

"  Did  you  find  the  green  suit-case  ?  "  he  asked,  "  and  my 
letter?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     But  the  letter  was  hardly  worth  showing." 

He  claimed  the  sealed  envelope  and  opened  it  on  the 
spot.  He  read: 

Dear  Gavan: 

This  is  to  say  good-by.  Since  my  talk  with  you  I  have  n't  felt 
I  could  go  on  staying  here  in  England.  So,  as  I  have  no  news 
from  Germany  and  hear  that  my  mother  is  in  New  York,  I  'm 
moving  heaven  and  earth  to  get  off  to-morrow  in  the  only  really 


THE  MESSENGER  271 

good  sailing  this  month.     I  wish  I  need  not  think  of  you  over 
there  in  France,  but  I  don't  know  how  I  can  help  that. 

Yours, 

NAN  ELLIS. 
P.S. —  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  writing  me.    N.  E. 

She  gave  a  New  York  address. 

Only  to  himself  he  put  the  question,  On  what  terms  had 
she  left  Julian  ?  What  lay  behind  the  delight  in  the  eyes 
that  welcomed  Napier?  Ask?  Not  he.  He  would  try 
not  so  much  as  to  wonder.  Even  if  the  shining  of  the 
hours  in  front  of  them  was  no  more  than  the  fragile  iri 
descence  of  a  bubble  floating  in  the  sun,  the  greater  was 
the  need  not  to  touch  such  beauty  with  too  inquiring  fin 
ger. 

They  found  their  places  in  the  haphazard  way  of  the 
first  luncheon,  before  the  seating  is  arranged.  By  ones 
and  twos  others  came  in,  till  the  table,  at  which  Nan  was 
the  only  woman,  was  full.  The  strangers  at  her  end 
seemed  disposed  to  silence.  Such  words  as  fell  audibly, 
though  English  and  addressed  chiefly  to  the  waiter,  bore 
out  the  impression  given  by  the  faces.  Napier  saw  the 
steward  about  it  afterward.  There  were  to  be  no  Ger 
mans  at  his  table  as  finally  selected.  He  wished  after 
ward  he  had  added,  and  no  American  actors.  In  which 
case  Miss  Nan  wouldn't  have  come  up  from  dinner  with 
Mr.  Vivian  Eoxborough  and  walked  the  deck  at  his  side 
a  good  half-hour.  If  it  were  only  for  Julian's  sake,  she 
could  n't  be  left  to  Mr.  Vivian  Eoxborough.  Napier  made 
it  his  business  to  avert  the  chance. 

That  next  day  —  forever  and  forever  the  sunshine  and 
the  sweetness  of  those  hours  would  leave  something  of 


272  THE  MESSENGER 

their  flavor  and  their  light  behind.  If  only  they  could 
go  on  sailing,  sailing,  and  never  land! 

So  Napier  said  to  himself,  as  he  hurried  back  on  the 
second  afternoon,  after  a  talk  with  the  captain  —  a  talk 
somewhat  marred  by  a  flickering  fear  as  to  whether  that 
actor  might  have  appropriated  the  guardian  chair.  No; 
one  of  those  Germans!  Napier's  change  of  table  had 
neither  prevented  Nan  from  bowing  to  some  of  the  men 
she  had  broken  bread  with  during  that  first  meal  on  board, 
nor  prevented  chance  conversation  (initiated  by  one  or 
other  of  the  Germans)  upon  that  promising  opening, 
"  You  are  American  ?  " 

Even  Nan  knew  that  the  handsome  big  man  who  stood 
by  her  now  was  an  officer.  He  may  have  been  thirty- 
eight,  and  he  was  certainly  in  the  pink  of  condition.  In 
the  midst  of  whatever  it  was  he  had  been  saying,  Napier 
carried  the  lady  off  to  the  lower  and  less-frequented  deck. 

"  How  they  must  laugh  at  the  stupid  English,  those 
Germans !  "  he  muttered,  as  he  strode  along  at  her  side. 
"  Here  we  are,  six  months  after  the  declaration  of  war, 
and  enemy  aliens  still  going  back  and  forth  as  easily  as 
in  times  of  peace.  Those  that  don't  find  their  way  back 
into  the  German  Army  — " 

"  How  can  they !  " 

"  What  'B  to  prevent  them  ?  Anyway,  those  who  don't 
take  the  popular  pleasure  trip,  New  York  to  Genoa  and  so 
to  Germany,  can  be  trusted  to  advance  the  German  propa 
ganda  in  the  two  Americas.  But  they  won't  find  traveling 
so  easy  after  this." 

"  Why?  Who  will  prevent  them  ?  "  Her  questions  had 
come  quickly. 


THE  MESSENGER  273 

"  The  British  Government  will  prevent  them  —  after  the 
Intelligence  Department  gets  my  report."  He  took  out  of 
his  pocket  a  paper  destined  to  have  an  effect,  the  least  part 
of  which  was  to  give  Napier  many  a  sleepless  night  months 
after  he  had  posted  it. 

The  first  eyes  to  rest  on  the  report  after  Napier's  own, 
regarded  it,  as  he  felt  even  at  the  time,  with  something 
more  than  disapproval. 

"  Don't  send  that !  "  the  girl  urged.  She  added  reasons 
in  whose  syllabling  Napier  heard  Julian's  voice.  Oh,  he 
had  well  indoctrinated  her !  As  Napier  listened,  obviously 
unmoved,  there  came  into  Nan's  earnestness  a  note  that 
gave  him  more  uneasiness  than  her  "  opinions  " —  a  note 
of  anxiety,  a  note  of  something  very  like  panic.  "You 
can't  send  that !  It  —  it  might  make  sucli  trouble,  not 
only  —  not  to  people  you  call  your  enemies."  She  caught 
herself  up.  "  As  Julian  says,  '  The  reactions  from  that 
kind  of  tyranny  — '  " 

Napier  said  quietly  he  must  accept  the  reactions. 

"  But  you  can't !  "  she  repeated.  "  It 's  the  greatest 
mercy  you  've  showed  it  to  me.  Oh,  Gavan,  you  don't 
want  to  make  trouble  between  England  and  America? 
You  will  if  you  send  in  that  report.  I  do  beg  you  — " 

Napier  had  seldom  known  more  difficult  moments  than 
those  that  followed.  As  she  stood  beside  him  on  the 
saloon-deck  near  the  companionway-door,  he  glanced  at  the 
mail-box  near  the  purser's  window.  Its  open  brass  mouth 
seemed  to  bray  a  warning :  "  If  you  don't  post  that  letter 
now,  you  never  will."  Napier  stepped  inside,  and  dropped 
the  envelope  through  the  slit. 

Nan  sat  down  on  a  folding-stool  near  the  ship's  railing. 


274  THE  MESSENGEK 

Napier  went  back  and  stood  silent  by  her  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  said: 

"  Give  me  what  credit  you  can.  I  don't  remember  ever 
doing  anything  harder  than  that." 

To  his  surprise,  instead  of  reproaching  him  or  punishing 
him  with  silence  or  with  tears,  "  What  do  you  expect  your 
Government  will  do  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know."  He  did  n't  try  to  keep  the  touch 
of  impatience  out  of  his  voice.  "  Eegulate  the  traffic  a 
little  better,  perhaps."  He  would  havejeft  it  at  that  but 
for  a  trifling  occurrence.  The  head  of  the  German  officer 
whom  they  had  left  a  few  minutes  before  on  the  upper 
deck  appeared  just  then  out  of  an  open  port  in  the  dining- 
saloon.  For  the  merest  instant  it  was  there,  only  to  be 
withdrawn.  And  why,  pray,  should  n't  a  man  of  any  race 
look  out  at  the  sea  from  a  public  window?  even,  come  to 
that,  glance  out  at  a  pretty  girl  ?  "  People  may  as  well 
know,"  Napier  said,  "  that  the  British  Government  has 
come  to  a  point  where  it  will  be  obliged  to  exercise  its 
censorship  openly  and  thoroughly  instead  of — "  He 
frowned  in  the  direction  where  the  offending  head  had 
been.  "  I  doubt  if  these  fellows  on  board  here  have  even 
been  asked  to  make  a  declaration,  let  alone  been  exam 
ined." 

"  Why  should  they  be  examined  ?  "  The  voice  beside 
him  rose  indignant.  "  On  the  open  sea !  bound  for  a  neu 
tral  country ! " 

He  looked  at  her  with  different  eyes.  "  The  British  port 
was  the  proper  place,"  he  said.  "  And  perhaps  people 
were  examined.  You  know  better  than  I." 

"I  know?"     She  stared  at  him. 


THE  MESSENGER  275 

"  You  know  if  they  asked  you  to  make  a  declaration  be 
fore  you  came  on  board." 

"Me?    A  declaration  !     About  what ?  " 

"  As  to  what  you  are  taking  over."  He  heard  his  own 
stern  voice  as  if  it  were  some  one  else's. 

"They  asked,"  she  said,  with  her  chin  up,  "if  I  were 
taking  over  any  letters  to  people  in  America  ?  " 

"  And  what  did  y ou  say  ?  " 

"  That  I  was  n't  taking  over  any  letters."  Her  note, 
like  his,  had  grown  less  and  less  patient.  "  Though  I 
don't  call  it  their  business  to  ask  an  American  going  to 
America  if  she — " 

"  Do  you  mean,"  the  interrogation  went  on,  "  they  did  n't 
look  for  themselves  ?  " 

"Look!     Look  where?" 

"  Look  through  your  luggage,  your  hand-bag,  your 
'  green  suit-case.' " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"Well,  they  ought.  And  I  shall  see  that  next  time 
they  do." 

Not  anger  only,  and  not  only  spirited  revolt,  appeared 
on  the  face  Napier  loved.  The  something  else  he  had 
been  vaguely  aware  of  showed  there  clearer.  He  glanced 
sharply  round  and  then  bent  over  her.  "What  would 
happen  if  they  did  their  duty?  What  if  they  were  to 
search  you  ?  " 

"  To  search  me ! "     She  stood  up. 

"  'Sh !  "     He  looked  round  again. 

"  They  can't !  "  she  triumphed.     "  Not  now." 

"  Ah !  "  The  emission  of  breath  came  as  though  forced 
out  by  a  sudden  physical  anguish. 


276  THE  MESSENGER 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  What  are  you  thinking  ?  "  she 
cried. 

"  I  'm  thinking  that  I  wish  to  God  you  'd  go  and  get  all 
that  infernal  stuff  of  Julian's  in  the  green  suit-case  and 
throw  it  overboard." 

"  I  have  n't  got  any  '  infernal  stuff/  "  she  said,  with  the 
faint  pink  rising  in  her  cheeks. 

To  Napier's  further  characterization  of  "the  stuff,"  his 
bitter  denunciation  of  this  using  of  English  good  faith  to 
hamper,  if  not  to  betray,  England,  the  girl  had  her  de 
fense.  Or,  rather,  she  had  Julian's  reinforced  by  the 
American's  innocent  belief,  prior  to  1917,  that  to  the  citi 
zens  of  that  favored  land  no  Old-World  rules  need  apply, 
no  Old-World  danger  was  a  menace.  "  Americans  don't 
recognize,"  was  one  of  her  phrases.  "  We  make  our  own 
rules.  You  are  talking  in  the  air.  I  am  not  carrying 
over  any  letters." 

"  Look  me  in  the  eyes,  Nan,  and  say  that  you  are  not 
carrying  something  that  I  would  prevent  from  reaching 
America  if  I  had  the  power." 

She  got  up  and  walked  alone  toward  the  stern  of  the 
ship.  As  she  turned  to  come  back,  Vivian  Eoxborough 
rose  out  of  his  chair.  Before  he  reached  her  side,  a 
capped  and  aproned  figure  darted  out  of  the  narrow  cor 
ridor,  near  the  smoking-room,  and  spoke  to  Miss  Ellis. 
The  girl  and  the  stewardess  went  below  together.  No  sign 
of  Nan  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

At  six  o'clock  Napier  sent  a  note  to  her  cabin. 

I  hope  you  're  not  feeling  out  of  sorts  in  any  way.     But  if  you 
are,  may  n't  I  see  you  a  moment  ?  Yours  ever, 

G.  N. 


THE  MESSENGER  277 

The  answer  came  back : 

Not  out  of  aorta  at  all,  thank  you, 

Yours  as  always, 

N.     E. 

"When  he  did  n't  find  her  at  the  dinner-table, —  she  had 
been  punctual  hitherto  —  Napier  went  back  to  the  upper 
deck  and  waited  for  her  near  the  companion-way.  Ten 
minutes  went  b}r.  She  must,  after  all,  have  been  below 
somewhere,  and  was  no  doubt  at  dinner  by  now.  He  went 
back  to  the  saloon  and  looked  in.  She  was  not  there.  As 
he  returned  again  to  keep  his  watch  on  the  corridor  lead 
ing  from  her  cabin,  the  same  stewardess  who  had  carried 
the  girl  off  early  in  the  afternoon  came  laboriously  up  from 
lower  regions,  carrying  a  tray. 

"  Oh  —  a  —  you  are  the  one  who  is  looking  after  Miss 
Ellis,  aren't  you?" 

"  Yes.     I  'm  taking  in  her  dinner." 

"  Oh,  I  see."  But  it  was  n't  true.  He  did  n't  see  in 
the  very  least  why  he  should  be  punished  in  this  way,  a 
sulky  way,  moreover,  and  singularly  un-Nanlike,  as  he  told 
himself. 

Just  after  the  luncheon-bugle  sounded  the  next  day, 
Napier  met  the  same  stewardess  again.  Again  she  came 
toiling  up  the  companion-way,  tray-laden. 

"  You  are  taking  that  to  Miss  Ellis  ?  " 

Yes,  she  was. 

"She  is  ill,  then?" 

"  No,  she  is  n't  ill.  Just  having  her  dinner  in  Number 
Twenty-four." 

"  Twenty-four  is  n't  Miss  Ellis's  number." 


278  THE  MESSENGER 

"  No,  sir.  It 's  the  number  of  the  lady  who  is  n't  feel 
ing  very  well,  though  she  does  eat  well.  I  '11  say  that  for 
her."  The  woman  pursued  her  way  with  the  access  of 
vigor  that  a  dash  of  vindictiveness  will  sometimes  generate. 

He  had  not  so  much  as  a  glimpse  of  Nan  until  evening. 
Going  down  to  dress,  he  met  her  coming  out  of  the  library 
with  an  armful  of  books. 

"Well,  at  last!"  He  tried  to  take  the  books.  She 
backed  away  from  him. 

"  No,  no,  thank  you.     They  're  just  nicely  balanced." 

"  Look  here,  what  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  You  've  barred  my  way."     She  tried  to  pass. 

"  It  is  n't  like  you  to  take  a  mortal  offense  and  not  say 
how  or  what  about." 

"  I  have  n't  —  taken  offense."  She  leaned  against  the 
wall,  hugging  the  books. 

"  Then  why  do  you  stay  in  your  cabin  the  whole  blessed 
time?" 

"  I  have  n't  been  in  my  cabin.  I  've  been  in  —  I  've 
been  looking  after  a  lady  who  was  n't  well  when  she  came 
on  board  and  who  is  a  very  bad  sailor.  So  as  I  'm  rather 
a  good  one  —  she  will  wonder  what  has  become — "  and 
before  Napier  could  gather  his  wits,  Nan  was  flying  down 
the  corridor. 

The  next  day  same  program  was  continued,  except  that 
Napier  hung  much  about  corridor  and  companion-way, 
waiting  in  vain  for  even  a  glimpse  of  the  flying  figure. 
While  walking  the  deck  he  had  located  Number  Twenty- 
four,  noting  with  surprise  that  a  passenger  who  was  ill, 
especially  a  woman  looked  after  by  Nan,  should  keep  her 


THE  MESSENGER  279 

port  closed  in  fine  weather.  He  had  of  course  looked  up 
the  number  on  the  table  diagram.  Twenty-four  was  oc 
cupied  by  Mile.  La  Farge,  the  devil  take  her ! 

A  restless,  wearisome  day.  He  knew  it  an  ill  prepara 
tion  for  sleep.  He  turned  up  the  light  over  his  berth, 
the  fierce,  unshaded  light,  and  read  till  his  eyeballs  burned. 
He  extinguished  the  horrible  glare  and  lay  in  the  dark, 
turning  and  tossing,  seeing  in  the  renewal  of  his  Nan- 
fever  a  punishment  for  defective  loyalty  to  his  friends. 
Twelve  o'clock  came.  Is  she  asleep  ?  As  for  him,  he  was 
wider  awake  than  ever. 

One  o'clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  n't  to  be  borne. 
The  real  trouble  was  that  instead  of  taking  a  proper 
amount  of  exercise,  he  'd  hung  about  waiting.  What  was 
the  night,  the  morning,  rather  —  what  was  it  like  ?  He 
could  n't  bring  himself  to  turn  on  the  fierce  flood  of  light. 
He  felt  his  way  to  the  port.  Yes,  a  gibbous  moon,  rolling 
lopsidedly  among  the  cloud-rack  over  a  corrugated-iron 
sea.  Was  it  hot  or  cold  away  from  the  stifling  steam  heat? 
He  opened  his  port  and  breathed  deep.  He  was  not  the 
only  sleepless  passenger.  Two  heads  showed  dimly,  two 
figures  in  long  ulsters  leaning  against  the  rail. 

Presently  a  voice :  "  Now  a  little  more  walking,  and 
you  '11  feel  better." 

Nan!  Good  Samaritanizing !  She  was  supporting  the 
shorter  figure,  her  arm  round  the  thick  waist.  They 
started  down  the  deck  in  the  direction  of  Napier's  open 
port,  but  thought  better  of  it.  They  turned  and  went  the 
other  way  in  face  of  the  wind. 

Napier  pulled  on  some  clothes  and  hurried  out.    When 


280  THE  MESSENGER 

he  got  to  the  other,  the  colder  side,  of  the  ship,  there  they 
were,  going  at  a  good  round  pace  for  an  indisposed  per 
son,  pounding  down  the  deck  locked  in  that  embrace. 

Well,  women  were  odd  beings.  Here  was  evidently  some 
frantic  new  friendship  started.  He  drew  back  in  the 
semi-darkness  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  smoking.  The 
two  heads  hatless,  with  motor-veils  tied  round  them,  were 
close  together.  The  invalid  ceased  speaking  as  they 
passed. 

Nan's  voice  was  blurred,  troubled.  "  There  must  be 
some  mistake  —  "  the  rest  was  lost. 

As  they  turned  to  come  back,  the  mild,  intermittent 
shining  of  the  moon  lit  the  two  faces  for  a  passing  mo 
ment —  lit  one  delicate-featured,  pale,  eager;  and  the 
other,  full,  pink-cheeked,  with  heavy,  handsome  outlines 
and  prominent  eyes.  By  all  the  gods,  it  was —  No,  it 
couldn't—  Something  worse  than  a  headache  must  be 
the  matter  with  Napier  when  he  could  imagine  so  startling 
a  likeness. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  get  any  more,"  Nan  was  saying. 

"  You  can  borr-c/i-ow  some,"  said  the  other  in  remem 
bered  accents. 

When  the  figures  turned  to  come  down  again,  the 
shorter  of  the  two  halted  suddenly.  Napier  had  come  out 
of  the  shadow  and  stood  in  such  dim  light  as  there  was, 
with  his  back  against  the  ship's  railing,  waiting  for  them. 

It  was  the  invalid  who  first  caught  sight  of  him.  She 
turned  about,  and  before  one  could  much  more  than  blink, 
she  had  wrenched  open  the  weather  door  and  disappeared. 

Nan  stood  still  for  a  bewildered  instant,  while  Napier 
went  forward. 


THE  MESSENGER  281 

"  So  that 's  why !  "  he  said.  "  Very  well,  then,  you  've 
got  to  know !  "  Leaning  on  the  railing  there  beside  her 
in  the  windy  moonlight,  he  told  her  what  Singleton  had 
found  in  Greta's  room. 

Before  he  had  gone  far  Napier  was  acutely  aware  of  the 
girl's  stiffening;  aware  of  a  withdrawal,  infinitesimal  as 
expressed  in  the  body,  a  chasm  as  between  their  souls. 
He  could  feel  that  she  was  thinking :  "  Gavan  looked  on ! 
He  allowed  that  baseness  at  Lamborough ! "  That  he 
should  put  a  false  construction  upon  what  was  found  was 
the  least  of  his  misdoing. 

"  Oh,  yes," —  she  turned  sharply  away  — "  she  told  me 
you  'd  say  that !  " 

Was  it  anger  or  suppressed  tears  that  clouded  her  voice  ? 
Xapier  did  n't  know. 

"What  Greta  must  have  suffered  those  horrible  last 
hours  at  the  Mclntyres' !  All  to  spare  me,  to  save  me  the 
humiliation  of  knowing  how  you  could  treat  my  friend ! 
She  knew  what  that  would  mean  to  me.  "We, — "  she  gave 
him  her  eyes  again  — "  we  at  home  treated  Greta  like  a 
princess.  And  she  deserved  it."  As  Napier  made  no  at 
tempt  to  rebut  that  view,  she  dropped  her  head,  struggling 
an  instant  with  some  new  enemy  to  self-control.  "  Greta 
puts  me,  too,  to  shame.  That  longing  to  see  me  again  that 
made  her  risk  coming  back  to  England!  Only  to  find 
that  she  might  do  me  an  injury,  might  compromise  me ! 
Imagine  Greta  in  a  thick  veil,  waiting  about  in  the  dusk 
to  catch  a  glimpse  —  Saw  me  coming  out  of  the  shipping 
office  with  Madge.  And  when  she  found  I  was  sailing  on 
this  boat,  dropped  everything  to  come  along!  Greta  un 
derstands  loyalty."  She  fell  back  upon  ground  evidently 


282  THE  MESSENGEK 

prepared  for  her.  "  Is  n't  it  '  trying  to  undermine/  is  n't 
it  'poisoning  the  mind,'  if  you  ask  me  to  put  the  worst 
construction  on  innocent  things?  Greta's  diary!  As  she 
says,  if  you  'd  read  my  diary  to  my  mother,  you  'd  have  me 
in  the  Tower.  Oh,  she  is  fair  and  just !  She 's  been  say 
ing  to  me  only  to-night,  that  since  I  '11  be  going  back  there, 
perhaps  living  among  them,  I  'm  to  remember  it 's  only 
to  the  Germans  the  English  are  perfectly  horrible.  She 
was  quite  willing  to  leave  me  my  illusions  about  you  all 
till  you  yourself  tear  them  away." 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me  how  I  've  done  that  ?  "  He 
tried  to  stem  the  torrent. 

She  steadied  herself  with  an  elbow  on  the  railing. 

"  Have  n't  you  told  me  yourself  about  going  through  my 
friend's  trunks  when  she  was  n't  there  ?  Oh,  that  — that, 
Gavan,  was  — "  She  turned  suddenly  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  arm. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  mistake." 

She  lifted  a  wet  face  up  to  him  in  the  moonlight. 

"  The  alternative,"  he  said  miserably,  "  would  have  been 
better.  Instead  of  the  private  one,  a  public  examination, 
Greta  Schwarzenberg  in  prison  instead  of  free  — " 

"  Then  she  is  right ! "  Nan  stood  back,  clear  of  the 
railing,  facing  him.  "You  do  want  to  be  revenged." 

She  stood  there,  with  the  wind  catching  at  the  ends  of 
her  chiffon  veil,  blowing  them  back  over  her  shoulder,  for 
that  instant  before  she,  too,  fled  from  him  through  the 
weather  door. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  morning  of  arrival  found  every  one  in  the  nat 
ural  state  of  excitement  induced  by  eight  days'  an 
ticipation  and  three  thousand  miles  of  progress  toward  a 
given  goal.  Napier's  glimpse  of  Nan,  hurrying  out  of  the 
breakfast-salon  by  an  opposite  door  as  he  went  in,  showed 
excitement  in  her,  too.  Notwithstanding  all  that  had 
happened,  he  was  determined  not  to  part  from  her  on 
that  note  of  last  night.  Anything,  the  merest  common 
place,  rather  than  that,  he  told  himself,  unable  to  strangle 
a  larger  hope. 

Not  in  vain  he,  in  his  turn,  despatched  breakfast  in 
short  order  and  went  above.  There  she  was  on  the  prom 
enade-deck,  her  back  to  him,  her  face  to  the  faint,  still 
far-off  outline  of  her  native  land. 

In  the  raw  chill  of  that  February  morning  the  prospect 
appeared  anything  but  welcoming  to  Napier.  It  was  dif 
ferent  for  her.  In  the  forefront  of  her  mind  she  was 
no  doubt  waving  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  But,  Napier 
could  have  sworn,  deep  in  her  heart  was  the  thought  of 
him  and  a  secret  planning  of  one  of  those  "  meetings  in 
New  York "  she  had  spoken  of  in  the  first  days.  She 
stood  there  lightly  poised,  a  little  wistful,  more  than  a 
little  alluring.  Another  man,  noting  the  empty  deck, 
remembering  that  other  sea  they  had  stood  by,  locked  to 
gether,  would  have  gone  up  to  her  and  put  an  arm  about 

283 


•284  THE  MESSENGER 

the  waiting  figure.  The  scene  of  pretty  confusion  and 
tender  yielding,  the  withdrawal,  "  Some  one  is  sure  to 
come ! "  and  the  hurried  arrangement  to  meet  —  he  saw 
it  all.  He  wondered  afterward  what  would  have  hap 
pened  had  he  played  his  part. 

When  she  found  him  at  her  side  with  "  Good  morning," 
she  turned  sharply  as  though  to  fly.  It  was  all  in  the  con 
vention. 

"  You  must  be  very  happy  to-day,"  he  said. 

"Happy!    Why  should  I  be  happy?" 

"  Well,  to  be  so  near  home." 

"  Oh,  home !  "  She  lifted  her  shoulder  slightly.  "  New 
York  is  less  my  home  than  — "  she  stopped  short. 

"Than  England?"  he  said. 

"  There  's  one  thing,  anyway,"  she  said  in  her  elusive 
way.  "  If  I  can't  go  back  for  a  good  while,  neither  can 
you." 

He  stared  at  her,  a  great  hope  contending  with  mys 
tification. 

"  Do  I  understand,"  he  forced  himself  to  answer  lightly, 
"  that  you  refuse  to  let  me  return  home  without  you  ?  " 

Her  cheeks  showed  sudden  color. 

"  The  Germans  refuse  to  let  either  of  us  go  if  what 
Greta  has  heard  is  so." 

"  And  what  has  she  heard  ?  " 

"  That  soon  after  we  sailed  the  Kaiser  declared  a  block 
ade  of  England,  an  Atlantic  war  zone." 

She  saw  that  Napier  had  already  had  the  wireless  news 
before  he  asked: 

"  How  does  that  affect  you  and  me  ?  " 

"Even  neutral  ships  aren't  safe  after  to-morrow,"  she 


THE  MESSENGER  285 

said,  accepting  with  the  hypnotized  docility  shown  by  so 
many  in  those  early  days  any  edict  bearing  the  German 
stamp.  "  What  I  've  been  thinking  is,  you  '11  be  over  here 
till  the  end  of  the  war,  so  there  '11  be  time  to  —  to  un 
derstand  —  to  get  some  things  straight,  anyhow."  She 
turned  to  answer  the  good  morning  of  one  of  the  ship's 
officers. 

Napier  always  believed  that  the  first  real  shock  to  Nan's 
faith  in  Greta  came  as  the  passengers  of  the  Britannia 
were  about  to  disembark  an  hour  later.  Mr.  Vivian  Rox- 
borough,  very  smart  in  new  ultra-English  clothes,  had  been 
observed  threading  his  way  among  the  crowd  on  deck, 
plainly  in  quest  of  Miss  Ellis.  No  sooner  had  he  caught 
sight  of  her  than  he  pressed  forward,  and  no  sooner  was 
he  near  her  than  he  stopped  short,  his  eyes  intent  on  the 
lady  at  Miss  Ellis's  side. 

Greta  had  forborne  to  challenge  curiosity  by  absolutely 
concealing  her  features.  But  probably  no  one  better  than 
she  understood  the  serviceability  for  disguise  of  a  heavily 
figured  white-lace  veil. 

Mr.  Roxborough  must  have  known  her  well  to  be  able 
to  say  with  such  assurance:  "Why,  Greta — "  and  then 
in  the  rebound  from  that  betrayal  of  too  close  acquaint 
anceship  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  scale :  "  I  did  n't 
know  you  were  on  board,  Mrs.  Guedalla." 

Greta  stared  at  him  through  the  meshes  of  the  elaborate 
pattern  and  said  with  her  grand  air :  "  Some  mistake,  I 
think." 

Roxborough  pinched  his  lips.  "Oh,  you  don't  remem 
ber  me !  Well,  perhaps  you  '11  remember  your  husband. 
I  'm  rather  expecting  my  manager  to  meet  me  on  the  dock. 


286  THE  MESSENGEK 

Or  perhaps  it 's  you  Mr.  Guedalla  is  waiting  for,"  Eox- 
borough  added  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

Greta  put  a  hand  through  Nan's  arm  and  drew  her  near 
the  gangway.  Something  must  have  been  said  for  the  girl 
turned  her  back  with  decision  upon  her  late  admirer.  But 
her  face  was  more  than  disturbed,;  it  was  shamed,  fright 
ened.  A  cut  in  public  is  a  terrible  thing  to  the  innocent 
mind. 

Napier  stood  close  behind  the  pair,  waiting  for  the  ex 
cuse  he  felt  that  Mrs.  Guedalla  would  make  for  not  going 
down  with  the  crowd  to  confront  her  husband.  But  the 
lady  was  too  entirely  mistress  of  herself  for  that.  Perhaps 
she  counted  on  Mr.  Guedalla's  knowledge  of  the  wisdom  of 
not  interfering  with  his  wife.  Straight  down  the  gang 
plank  she  walked,  Nan  behind  her,  recovering  herself 
enough  to  make  little  signals  toward  a  group  —  two  ladies, 
a  young  man,  and  three  children  with  flags  —  waving  and 
smiling  at  Nan  Ellis,  first  from  the  end  of  the  crowded 
pier,  then  running  along  at  the  side,  and  now  waiting 
finally  at  the  bottom  of  the  gangway  to  fall  upon  the  girl 
with  their  welcome. 

Napier  had  no  difficulty  in  deciding  which  of  them  was 
her  mother  in  face  of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Ellis  looked  more 
like  an  elder  sister.  Yes,  that  must  be  a  nice  woman; 
but  stupid,  he  decided,  noting  the  cordiality,  after  the  first 
motion  of  surprise,  with  which  Mrs.  Ellis  received  the 
lady  in  the  baffling  veil.  She  kissed  Greta  through  the 
lace.  Bah!  With  Nan's  address  in  his  .pocket,  he  could 
afford  to  leave  her  and  her  party  in  the  hands  of  a  customs 
officer,  opening  trunks  on  the  pier. 

Indeed,  he  had  little  choice,  he  found  himself  appropri- 


THE  MESSENGER  287 

ated  by  an  English  friend  and  an  American  steel  magnate 
—  carried  away  into  a  world  about  which  all  that  he  had 
heard  had  very  little  prepared  him. 

His  private  as  well  as  patriotic  interest  in  the  possibili 
ties  unfolded  did  not  prevent  him  from  putting  himself 
in  touch  with  the  British  Intelligence  Department  before 
he  dined  that  first  night  on  American  soil. 

The  chief  agent  in  New  York  was,  or  had  been,  as 
Napier  knew,  the  British  partner  in  an  American  shipping 
house.  That  he  had  married  an  American  heiress,  Napier 
also  knew.  He  was  the  more  surprised  to  find  Mr.  Rod 
erick  Taylor  installed  en  gargon  at  an  hotel. 

"My  w-wife,"  said  the  long,  fair  young  man  with  the 
strictly  pomaded  hair,  "  is  in  P-Paris  with  her  sister,  who 
is  or-organizing  American  Hospital  Relief.  In  any  case," 
— his  smile  seemed  to  accept  Napier  as  one  to  be  treated 
frankly — "all  sorts  of  coming  and  going  is  less  marked 
in  a  c-caravansary  like  this."  The  luxurious  sitting  room 
bore  at  that  moment,  though  it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock, 
signs  of  the  indicated  traffic.  A  bridge  table  not  long 
abandoned,  to  judge  by  the  glasses  and  cigar  ends,  stood 
there. 

He  had  run  across  Stein,  coming  out  from  luncheon, 
said  Mr.  Taylor.  Old  Viennese  friend  of  his,  Stein.  Had 
him  up  along  with  O'Leary,  the  Sinn  Feiner,  and  a  Ger 
man-American  dark  horse,  Bieber.  "  We  are  all  dining  at 
Bieber's  to-morrow,"  Mr.  Taylor  smiled  as  one  who  pre 
serves  a  native  modesty  in  full  view  of  triumph.  It  was  n't 
the  smile  he  showed  to  his  experimental  bridge  parties. 
"  Greta  von  S-S  — "  the  slight,  very  slight  stammer  gave 
a  touch  of  unreadiness  which  perhaps  prevented  the  ex- 


288  THE  MESSENGEE 

treme  competency  of  Mr.  Roderick  Taylor  from  being  too 
marked.  Napier  noticed  later  than  the  stammer  was  hardly 
discernible  when  the  engaging  young  man  was  off  duty. 

"  Yes,  von  Schwarzenberg."  He  helped  Taylor  over  the 
barbed-wire  of  Teutonic  syllables. 

"  Know  her  ? "  Taylor  could  go  on  glibly  enough. 
"  Eather !  "  And  what,  he  asked,  made  Mr.  Napier  think 
the  woman  who  had  crossed  with  him  as  Mademoiselle  La 
Farge  was  — 

Clearly  Mr.  Taylor,  whether  in  obedience  to  his  own  judg 
ment  or  to  the  issue  of  some  mot  d'ordre,  was  disposed  to 
take  Napier  at  face-value;  but  he  was  far  from  accepting 
Napier's  facts  on  the  sole  ground  of  Napier's  belief  in 
them.  After  the  Schwarzenberg  incident  had  been  probed 
and  sifted,  Mr.  Taylor  sat  back  in  his  chair,  gently  per 
plexed  and  obviously  perturbed. 

"  It 's  not  that  we  have  n't  been  expecting  her.  The 
chief  value  of  one  of  our  men  is  that  he  has  hitherto  been 
able  to  keep  in  touch  with  her.  But  if  she  really  has  left 
the  other  side,  he  ought  to  have  warned  us."  He  took  up 
the  receiver  of  his  desk  telephone,  and  then  laid  it  down. 
"  We  go  warily  with  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg."  He  rose 
and  opened  a  door  at  the  very  moment  that  a  frail,  grizzled 
man  entered  the  adjoining  room  from  the  hall.  "  Oh, 
Macray,  just  a  moment !  " 

The  man  did  not  stop  to  take  off  either  hat  or  coat. 
Middle-aged,  dyspeptic-looking,  he  came  in,  settling  his 
black-rimmed  pince-nez  on  an  insufficient  nose.  He  took 
a  reporter's  notebook  out  of  his  pocket  and  stood  there, 
sour,  hopeless,  a  mere  sketch  of  a  man  in  black  and  white. 

"  Greta  Schwarz  is  back,"  said  Mr.  Taylor.    Without  a 


THE  MESSENGEE  289 

pause  and  in  the  same  low  voice  he  ran  rapidly  over  the 
main  facts  in  the  story  Napier  had  told  him.  "Just  set 
them  to  work,"  he  wound  up.  "  Quickest  way  to  get  on 
her  track  — "  he  turned  to  Napier  — "  what 's  the  American 
girl's  address  ?  "  Napier  did  not  disguise  his  reluctance 
to  produce  that  particular  information. 

"  You  understand,"  he  repeated  for  the  benefit  of  the 
pessimist  with  the  note-book,  "  this  Miss  Ellis  is  under  the 
most  complete  misapprehension  about  the  woman." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  agreed  Mr.  Taylor. 

Macray  impassively  poised  his  pen.  Napier  gave  the 
address.  Macray  set  down  a  grudging  stroke  or  two,  and 
then :  "  All  New  York  knows  where  to  find  Schwarzen- 
berg,"  he  said,  dragging  out  the  information  as  though  to 
talk  increased  his  affliction,  whatever  it  was.  "  Just  heard. 
Been  seeing  reporters  all  afternoon." 

"  Who  's  been  seeing  reporters  ?  "  Taylor  demanded. 

"  Schwarz." 

"  The  deuce  she  has !  " 

Macray  felt  in  his  pocket.  He  drew  out  an  evening 
paper,  damp  from  the  press,  and  folded  to  display: 

COLONIALISM  IN  AMEEICA 
ENGLISH  DICTATION 

IMPRESSIONS    OF    GERMAN-AMERICAN    BACK    FROM 
BELLIGERENT   COUNTRIES 

Napier  stood  at  Mr.  Taylor's  side,  and  together  they 
read  how  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  had  not  been  an  hour 
on  this  dear  American  soil,  before  she  perceived  with  pain 
that,  while  Germany  was  fighting  for  freedom  of  the  seas, 


290  THE  MESSENGER 

for  human  rights,  America  was  forgetting  she  'd  ever  won 
hers.  After  a  genial  reference  in  passing  to  the  burning 
of  Washington  by  the  British,  the  lady  protested  that  his 
tory  was  n't  her  strong  point.  Would  some  one,  there 
fore,  kindly  tell  her  who  had  given  the  seas  to  the  British  ? 
Upon  the  eloquent  pause  that  seemed  to  have  followed  that 
request,  the  lady  illustrated  the  service  Germany  was  ren 
dering  the  United  States  in  protesting  against  English 
domination.  It  must  be  very  humiliating,  the  lady 
thought,  for  Americans  to  have  their  mail-bags  opened, 
their  letters  confiscated.  "  Of  course  some  of  the  letters 
are  for  Germany.  Why  not?  Is  England  to  tell  you  to 
whom  you  may  write  ?  Is  n't  America  a  neutral  ?  Or  is 
that  a  pretense  ? "  She  gave  cases  of  bitter  hardships, 
German  parents,  old,  ill,  dying,  whom  faithful  sons  had 
long  been  accustomed  to  supply  with  remittances  from 
America.  In  suffering  British  interference,  America,  so 
Miss  Greta  told  the  interviewer,  had  failed  in  dignity. 
Weakly,  supinely,  slavishly,  America  was  submitting  to 
British  insolence. 

Nothing  in  the  interview  occasioned  Napier  so  much 
concern  as  the  fact  that  it  was  stated  to  have  taken  place 
at  a  named  hotel,  "  where  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  is  stay 
ing  with  old  friends." 

Mr.  Taylor  laughed  a  trifle  ruefully  as  he  threw  down 
the  sticky  paper  and  applied  a  pocket-handkerchief  to  his 
long,  white  fingers.  "  I  like  America,  he  assured  the  new 
comer,  but  there  's  no  denying  it 's  a  queer  country  and  a 
queer  people.  Is  n't  it  so,  Macray  ?  " 

Macray's  only  answer  was  a  faint  groan.  He  picked  up 
his  newspaper  and  walked  gloomily  out. 


THE  MESSENGER  291 

"The  very  strangest  mixture,"  Taylor  went  on,  "of 
shrewdness  and  innocence.  Take  their  attitude  toward 
this  woman.  She  impresses  them  enormously."  He  dis 
regarded  Napier's  "  She  impresses  most  people."  "  Over 
here  they  take  this  Mrs.  Guedalla,  or  Schwarz,  or  what 
ever  her  real  name  is  —  they  take  her  not  only  for  a 
woman  of  education,  but  a  woman  woJilgeboren.  They 
accept  her  account  of  misuse  of  her  name.  An  obscure 
Western  actress  who,  you  are  told,  bears  a  certain  dubious 
likeness  to  the  real  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  had  felon 
iously  adopted  that  honorable  name.  'You  know  the 
stage  way,'  says  Schwarzenberg.  <  Tottie  Tompkins  turns 
into  Arabella  Beauchamp.'  The  real  Miss  von  Schwarz 
enberg  has  naturally  never  been  on  the  stage.  She  is  mu 
sical.  All  gebildete  Germans  are  musical.  And  that  fact 
had  been  her  salvation,  so  she  tells  these  fatuous  friends 
of  hers  over  here.  Being  musical  in  the  thorough  Ger 
man  way  enabled  her  to  hold  out  against  her  proud, 
despotic  father.  When  he  tried  to  compel  her  to  marry 
the  dissolute  Freiherr  of  vast  possessions,  Miss  Greta  ran 
away  with  her  governess.  Oh,  always  the  scene  is  care 
fully  set !  And  then,  in  order  not  to  live  on  the  governess, 
Miss  Greta  took  to  teaching  music.  They  swallow  it  all! 
They  look  upon  her  as  a  patriot,  A  German  patriot,  of 
course;  but  still  laboring  devotedly  and  legitimately  for 
her  native  land." 

What  made  Taylor's  dealings  with  her  a  delicate  mat 
ter  was  the  fact  that  she  had  these  powerful  friends, 
Americans  whose  good  faith  and  general  decency  of  con 
duct  no  reasonable  being  could  doubt.  She  had  kept  her 
self  in  close  relations  with  these  people  even  while  she 


292  THE  MESSENGER 

was  abroad.  His  wife  discovered  that  in  Paris.  How  did 
Schwarzenberg  keep  up  these  useful  relations?  Through 
the  one  channel  of  organized  participation  in  the  war  then 
open  to  American  sympathizers,  Relief. 

"  Lord !  the  jobs  put  through  in  the  name  of  Belief ! " 
Taylor  exclaimed. 

On  his  second  evening  in  New  York  Napier  went  with 
the  Van  Pelts,  his  hosts,  to  hear  "  Lohengrin "  at  the 
Metropolitan.  In  a  stage-box  sat  Miss  Greta,  very  hand 
some,  in  green,  with  a  silver  wreath  on  her  fair  hair.  The 
elderly  lady  beside  her,  according  to  the  Van  Pelts,  was 
a  well-known  "  society  leader  "  with  a  taste  for  philan 
thropy.  She  had  largely  financed  a  certain  branch  of 
American  relief  work.  That  was  her  husband  just  coming 
into  the  box.  But  the  girl  —  the  Van  Pelts  could  n't  make 
out  the  girl.  Napier  could. 

The  next  day,  three  tables  away  from  him,  at  a  men's 
luncheon  given  to  Napier  at  a  hotel,  Greta  again,  with  a 
different  party  except  for  Nan.  Napier  saw  the  girl's  face 
brighten  in  that  instant  of  catching  sight  of  him.  He 
saw  her  half  rise,  and  then,  as  Greta  fixed  her  eyes  on 
Nan's,  Napier  saw  the  girl  subside.  From  time  to  time 
she  looked  over  wistfully.  In  a  general  movement  after 
luncheon,  emptying  and  refilling  the  great  room,  he  was 
able  to  time  his  going  out  so  that  he  might  snatch  a  word 
with  her. 

"  You  have  n't  forgotten  where  I  am  ?  "  she  said  hur 
riedly  after  they  had  allowed  new-comers  to  separate  them 
a  little  from  their  respective  parties. 

No,  he  had  n't  forgotten ;  but  he  had  read  that  she  — 


THE  MESSENGEK  293 

he  nodded  in  Greta's  direction  —  was  also  at  the  same 
hotel. 

"  And  that  keeps  you  away !     That 's  all  you  care !  " 

"  Do  you  want,  then/'  he  said,  with  that  daring  which 
the  sense  of  being  safely  lost  in  a  crowd  will  lend  — "  do 
you  want  me  to  care  ?  " 

"  No  I  At  least  I  ought  n't  to."  Greta  and  her  guests 
were  waiting.  "  If  I  'd  known  how  to  find  you,"  Nan 
went  on  speaking  deliberately,  as  though  making  a  declara 
tion  of  rights,  "  I  should  have  written  you.  I  could  let 
you  see  part  of  a  letter  I  've  had  from  Julian.  He  tells 
news  the  papers  don't." 

Napier  thanked  her  gravely  and  gave  a  private  address. 
As  he  saw  her  disappear  with  "that  woman,"  he  said  to 
himself  for  the  thousandth  time,  If  only  he  'd  been  al 
lowed  to  tell  Nan  about  that  Gull  Island  villainy  at  the 
time,  she  could  n't  have  gone  on  making  her  loyalty  a  cloak 
for  their  common  enemy ! 

The  temptation  to  use  his  knowledge  now,  strove  in  him 
with  an  instinctive  as  w'ell  as  a  reasoned  shrinking.  The 
Gull  Island  affair  could  n't,  he  argued,  still  be  a  secret  of 
any  state  importance.  But  in  proportion  as  he  cleared 
away  that  obstacle,  the  clearer  yet  another  stood  forth. 
It  was  one  of  the  evils  of  a  most  evil  time  that  he,  Gavan 
Napier,  of  all  men,  had  been  forced  to  play  a  leading  part 
in  the  violent  end  of  a  man  with  whom  he  and  this  gentle, 
sensitive  girl  had  broken  bread !  Napier  caught  again  that 
animal-like  gleam  of  bared  teeth  as  Carl  Pforzheim  writhed 
across  the  table  for  his  pistol,  saw  again  the  gush  of  scarlet 
after  the  figure  turned,  met  the  knife,  and  fell  back  against 


294  THE  MESSENGER 

the  wall.  Let  all  that  horror  be  hidden  in  the  island  earth 
and  in  oblivion.  If  Nan  knew,  never,  never  could  it  be 
forgotten. 

The  "  news  "  in  the  letter  she  sent  from  Julian,  was  all 
of  the  gathering  strength  of  the  peace  movement  and  the 
glorious  part  in  it  which  America  was  destined  to  play. 
President  Wilson,  "  the  man  with  more  power  and  a  greater 
range  of  action  than  any  ruler  on  the  earth  to-day" — 
President  Wilson  was  the  hope  of  the  world.  The  rest  of 
the  page  had  been  torn  off.  Nan  was  learning  discretion, 
poor  child ! 

In  the  intervals  of  business  conclaves  in  the  city,  trips 
to  Pittsburgh  and  elsewhere,  Napier  continued  to  cultivate 
Mr.  Roderick  Taylor  despite  that  gentleman's  refusal  to 
lunch  out,  or  to  dine  out.  Not  with  Mr.  Napier !  Taylor 
was  never  seen  in  the  company  he  most  liked,  as  he  said 
in  his  pleasant  way.  But  there  were  private  smokes  and 
talks  during  which  many  things  that  had  been  mysteries 
to  Napier  became  clear.  Those  were  the  days  when  Tay 
lor  and  his  agents  were  almost  daily  unearthing  evidences 
of  the  underground  activity  of  the  pro-German  propagan 
dist.  Among  these  moles  of  international  mischief  Tay 
lor's  weasels  came  upon  Schwarzenberg's  traces  only  to 
lose  them.  "  Suspects  of  more  public  weight  and  interest, 
particularly  men,  were  far  more  easily  dealt  with.  These 
border-line  women  were  the  devil." 

Never  in  all  that  time  was  Napier  wholly  free  from 
a  dread  of  hearing  the  name  of  Ellis  in  connection  with 
Schwarzenberg ;  for  always  in  his  mind  the  figure  of  the 
winged  messenger  followed  the  devious  ways  of  the  Ger 
man,  followed  like  her  shadow.  The  girl  he  loved  was 


THE  MESSENGEK  295 

lavishing  faith  and  service,  as  well  as  financing  this  enemy 
of  England.  The  thought  was  an  anguish  to  him. 

Nothing  of  all  this  to  Taylor.  The  sole  reference  to  the 
chief  ground  of  Napier's  own  interest  in  the  situation  was 
a  carelessly  expressed  opinion,  "  Schwarzenberg  must  be 
making  a  considerable  hole  in  the  Ellis  pockets." 

But,  no.  According  to  the  omniscient  Taylor,  Schwarz- 
enberg's  spendings  were  on  a  scale  quite  outside  the  Ellis 
range.  Taylor  half  closed  his  whitish  eyelashes  and  re 
garded  the  end  of  his  cigar.  "  I  am,  I  believe,  on  the  track 
of  Schwarzenberg's  new  resources." 

That  telephone  again!  It  was  always  ringing  in  here 
when  Macray  was  out.  Taylor  listened,  laughed,  and  made 
an  appointment. 

An  Italian,  he  explained,  a  Mr.  Luigi  Montani, 
over  here  with  his  family.  He  had  taken  from  some 
friends  of  Taylor's  a  furnished  house  in  Washington. 
All  arranged  in  twenty-four  hours.  Not  a  syllable  in 
the  press. 

"  He 's  just  been  telling  me  that  when  his  servants, 
Italians,  went  down-stairs  the  first  morning,  they  could  n't 
open  the  front  door  for  the  mass  of  pro-German  literature 
shoved  through  the  letter-box  overnight." 

The  incident  set  Taylor  talking  about  "the  slender 
thread  "  on  which  may  hang  "  the  everlasting  things  "  in 
international  relationships.  He  talked  of  America  with, 
as  Napier  thought,  an  understanding  given  to  few  for 
eigners.  You  could  n't  shake  Taylor's  faith  in  America. 
"  But  her  ignorance  of  one  entire  hemisphere ! " 

Was  it  greater,  Napier  asked,  than  Old-World  ignorance 
of  the  new? 


296  THE  MESSENGER 

No,  no.  Lack  of  mutual  understanding  was  the  com 
mon  danger.  To  increase  it  was  the  German  trump-card. 

"  People  talk  of  America's  largely  unconscious  power 
to  wreck  the  world's  best  interests.  She  won't !  "  he  cried 
with  a  passion  that  seemed  alien  to  his  nature;  "but  if 
there  's  even  a  danger  of  it,  it  is  because  of  innocent  sus 
ceptibilities  which  the  underground  people,  Schwarzenberg 
and  her  crew,  are  rubbing  raw."  And  there  was  another 
thing.  "  If  they  should  '  get  at '  Wilson,  we  'd  be  in  a  bad 
way." 

"  The  whole  world  would  be  in  a  bad  way,"  said  Napier, 
with  a  dizzying  sense  of  the  issues  at  stake. 

"  Yes,  the  whole  world,"  Taylor  agreed.  And  on  his 
face,  too,  was  a  deeper  gravity. 

"  I  heard  something  last  night " —  Napier  sat  up  sud 
denly — "that  made  me  furious.  I  denied  it.  I  want  to 
hear  you  deny  it.  Fellow  from  Washington  told  us  the 
President  has  given  up  receiving  the  British  Ambassador." 

"  It 's  true." 

"  My  God !  then  Bernstorff  has  got  him !  " 

"  Not  at  all.  It 's  true  Wilson  's  given  up  seeing  the 
British  ambassador,  and.  it 's  true  he 's  given  up  seeing 
the  German  ambassador.  Oh,  a  long  head,  Wilson's ! 
He  corresponds  with  the  accredited,  official  representatives, 
and  he  sees  the  unofficial,  the  people  he  can  learn  from 
and  the  people  he  can  indoctrinate.  You'll  be  dealing 
with  him  less  advantageously  because  of  your  mission,  even 
thought  it 's  private.  But " —  Taylor  got  up  to  find  a 
match.  He  paused  to  lay  a  hand  on  Napier's  shoulder  — 
"  see  Wilson  soon." 

It  was  already  arranged,  Taylor  was  told. 


THE  MESSENGER  297 

"  Well,  don't  talk  only  munitions."  Nobody  better  than 
the  President,  according  to  Taylor,  knew  that  the  old 
diplomacy  was  doomed.  "  This  is  the  hour  of  the  un 
official  envoy." 

In  Washington,  four  days  later,  Napier  had  cause  to 
remember  that  dictum. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

NAPIER  arrived  at  the  "White  House  some  minutes 
before  the  time  set  for  his  interview.     Hardly  had 
he  embarked  upon  a  little  kill-time  tour  through  the  public 
rooms  when  he  heard  hurrying  steps  behind   him,   and 
turned  to  confront  Nan  Ellis. 

Her  greeting  was  the  strangest,  considering  all  things. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  I  wanted  to  know  —  oh,  have  you 
seen  Greta  ?  " 

No,  he  hadn't.  He  could  not  forbear  adding,  Why 
should  he? 

"  She  was  to  meet  me  here."  The  girl  turned  and 
scanned  the  corridor,  but  in  an  excited,  absent-mindedness 
as  though  her  thoughts  couldn't  pretend  to  follow  her 
eyes.  "  I  expect  they  won't  let  her  go.  Her  own  Em 
bassy  is  immensely  polite  to  Greta.  I  never  knew  she  had 
so  many  grand  acquaintances."  She  broke  off,  and  then 
added  breathlessly,  "  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Waiting  to  see  —  certain  people.  I  don't  need  to  ask 
what  you  are  here  for,"  he  added. 

Her  eyelids  winked  as  though  he  had  flicked  something 
in  her  face.  "  Oh," —  she  considered  a  second, — "  I  sup 
pose  you  do  know  more  or  less,  since  Julian  made  me  talk 
before  you.  Do  you  know  what  I  think  ?  " 

"  I  'd  rather  like  to." 

298 


THE  MESSENGER  299 

"Well,  you  shall.  I  think  men  are  the  indiscreetest 
people  on  the  earth."  And  then,  with  that  same  suppressed 
excitement,  she  added,  "  All  except  one." 

He  made  a  movement  toward  a  sofa  —  a  movement  she 
misinterpreted. 

"  0  Gavan,  don't  go  in  just  yet !  He 's  got  cart-loads  of 
people  to  talk  to,  and  I  have  n't  anybody.  You  see,  it  must 
be  somebody  that  as  good  as  knows  already.  There  is  n't 
any  one  but  you,  is  there?  Of  course,  what  I  came  for 
was  to  see  the  President.  Every  good  American  wants 
to  see  the  President.  So  I  done  it  — "  she  laughed  as  she 
threw  up  her  head — "like  Huck  Finn." 

"  Not,  I  gather,  with  the  hoi  polloi?" 

"The  what?"  But  she  didn't  stop.  "Oh,  the 
trouble  I  had !  I  wrote  and  I  wrote.  I  might  just  as  well 
have  been  in  an  effete  monarchy  trying  to  approach  the 
throne  on  my  hands  and  knees.  It  made  me  mad,  I  can 
tell  you.  I  said  so.  Told  Senator  Harned  so.  He 's  a 
friend  of  my  mother's.  But  Senator  Harned  wanted  me 
to  give  him  the  papers.  Imagine !  " 

"  Julian's  manifesto  ?  " 

"  Everything.  As  if  I  would !  I  've  come  all  the  way 
from  Europe  for  a  personal  interview,  and  a  personal  in 
terview  I  've  got  to  have,  or  —  well,  something  would  have 
to  be  done."  She  wagged  her  head. 

"  I  see.     Something  with  boiling  oil  in  it." 

"  Oh,  they  came  to  their  senses  at  last,  this  very  morn 
ing."  She  shone  in  the  refulgence  of  the  late-risen  sun. 
"But  do  you  know,  up  to  the  very  last  minute  I  had  to 
be  as  firm  as  the  Washington  monument.  He  sent  a  Pri 
vate  Secretary  to  see  me.  And  the  Private  Secretary  tried 


300  THE  MESSENGER 

to  make  me  *  abandon  the  matter.'  Called  it  '  the  mat 
ter '!  I  denied  that  '  matter '  was  the  main  object.  I 
must  see  the  President.  I  was  an  American.  Hadn't 
every  American  the  right  to  see  the  President?  Every 
American  had  the  right  to  wring  his  poor  hand  in  the 
presence  of  hundreds  of  other  Americans.  '  Very  well/ 
I  said,  '  if  I  may  n't  see  him,  I  '11  tell  Senator  Harned  that 
I  applied  and  sent  in  his  letter,  and  waited  for  days,  and 
was  turned  away  at  last. 

"  He  asked  me  to  wait  a  minute  —  the  Private  Secre 
tary  did.  So  I  *  done  it '  again.  After  a  while  another 
man  came  and  spoke  to  me,  a  gloomy  man  with  a  face  like 
a  clergyman  who  's  got  a  crime  on  his  soul,  and  he  took  me 
into  the  Presence."  She  was  only  half  laughing.  "  The 
Presence  and  I  said,  '  How  do  you  do.'  I  was  almost  too 
excited  to  look  at  him  properly,  now  that  I  'd  got  him. 
But,  0  Gavan,  he  is,  he  really  is !  " 

"  H'm,"  replied  Gavan. 

"  Wait  till  you  see !  He  asked  me  why  I  'd  come. 
Melancholy  man  still  hung  about.  '  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  you  alone,'  I  said.  Do  you  think  he  would?  No. 
As  much  a  'fraid-cat  as  any  king.  But  he  looked  at  the 
melancholy  man,  and  melancholy  man  went  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  It  was  really  as  good  as  having  him  out 
of  the  room  if  I  lowered  my  voice.  Then  I  told  him.  I 
gave  him  Julian's  Manifesto  and  the  rest.  Yes,  I  had 
them  all  in  the  green  suitcase.".  She  laughed  triumph 
antly. 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  advise  you  to  carry  such  merchan 
dise  again." 

"  I  sha'n't,"  she  agreed,  "  not  in  any  such  way  as  that. 


THE  MESSENGER  301 

Babyish,  I  call  it.  But  it  was  all  right  this  time.  I  sat 
and  watched  him  while  he  read  Julian's  Manifesto.  He 
read  it  twice.  It  took  hold  of  him.  I  could  see  that. 
Then  I  found  him  looking  at  me  through  his  glasses. 

"  *  What  do  your  friends  want  me  to  do  ? ' 

" '  To  save  civilization/  I  said." 

Xapier  could  see  her  "  doing  Julian  "  for  the  President. 

"  I  was  awfully  excited,  but  I  remembered  some  more. 
He  listened.  He  listens  well.  He  makes  you  do  your 
best.  I  felt  encouraged.  I  made  a  case.  Then  I  told 
him  —  oh,  you  won't  like  it,  but  I  told  him  that  Julian 
and  the  rest  had  far  more  backing  in  England  than  the 
newspapers  gave  the  smallest  inkling  of.  I  told  about  the 
kind  of  men  who  were  opposing  the  loss  of  liberty  in  the 
fight  for  liberty. 

" '  It  is  a  menace  before  every  country,'  he  said,  in  a 
discontented  sort  of  way.  He  seemed  not  to  want  to 
think  about  it.  I  could  see  he  was  tired  of  considering  me 
as  a  messenger  any  longer.  I  felt  in  the  queerest  way 
my  best  strength,  my  value,  all  going  when  I  found  him 
beginning  to  look  at  me  as  just  a  girl.  He  asked  me  ques 
tions  that  hadn't  a  thing  to  do  with  the  great  business. 
They  were  kind  questions;  oh,  yes,  kind,  and  as  if  he  were 
really  interested.  He  gave  me  a  feeling,  too,  that  he  'd 
make  everything  all  right.  He  made  me  feel  very  small 
and  insignificant  myself,  but  mighty  proud  of  America." 

"  He  seems  to  have  taken  your  measure  very  accurately." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  she  asked,  up  in  arms. 

"  Oh,  we  've  been  told  he  knows  how  to  deal  with  women. 
He  can  manage  even  the  Suffragettes." 

"  Now  you  are  a  little  spiteful.     I  know.     You  are  jeal- 


302  THE  MESSENGEK 

ous  because  you  have  n't  got  a  President.  You  've  only 
got  King  George." 

"  I  've  come  to  be  grateful  for  George,"  said  Napier, 
fervently. 

"  That  may  be,  but  nobody  can  call  him  exciting." 

Napier  assured  her  that  was  the  precise  ground  of  his 
gratitude. 

The  assurance  went  unheeded.  She  was  still  simmer 
ing  with  the  excitement  of  her  interview. 

"  Now  the  President  is  exciting.  Perfectly  wonderful, 
/  call  him.  And  perfectly  splendid  about  peace,  though 
he  did  say  " —  the  little  pucker  gathered  between  her  brows 
— "he  did  say  we  might  have  to  fight  for  it.  I  forgot  to 
ask  him  what  he  meant  by  that.  I  shall  be  dying  to  hear 
what  you  think  about  him.  Could  n't  we  " —  she  hesitated, 
and  then  as  Napier  did  not  make  the  hoped-for  suggestion 
she  made  it  herself  — "  could  n't  we  meet  ?  " 

"  Nothing  I  'd  like  better  —  if  you  're  not  with  —  if 
you  're  here  with  your  mother." 

No,  her  mother  was  still  in  New  York  with  the  children. 
That  was  one  reason  Nan  was  having  to  go  back.  For 
Mrs.  Ellis  was  leaving  on  Saturday  for  California. 
"  Father  needs  her,  and  she  says  I  don't,  now  I  hare 
Greta." 

"  I  see ;  you  have  Greta." 

"  Greta  is  dining  out  to-night."  She  scanned  his  face 
with  an  expression  which,  in  the  retrospect,  comforted  him 
even  more  than  to  remember  her  delight  at  the  arrange 
ment  finally  made.  He  was  to  call  for  her.  "Not  later 
than  half-past  seven,"  because  she  had  the  packing  to  do 
before  bed-time.  Yes,  they  were  going  to  New  York  by 


THE  MESSENGER  303 

the  early  train.  Greta  had  to  be  in  New  York  to-morrow 
night  for  a  meeting. 

"  Hallet  Newcomb's,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Nan  opened  her  eyes. 

"  How  odd  you  should  guess !  But  is  n't  it  fair-minded 
for  her  to  go  to  a  pro- Ally  lecture  by  an  Englishman?  " 

He  smiled  faintly  as  he  hurried  back  to  the  anteroom. 

On  the  way  out,  after  his  interview  with  the  President, 
Napier  could  not  fail  to  see  among  the  waiting  crowd,  com 
posed  chiefly  of  men,  the  very  striking  figure  of  a  yellow- 
haired  woman  in  deep  conversation  with  a  certain  senator 
much  at  the  moment  in  the  public  eye.  But  Miss  von 
Schwarzenberg  did  not  leave  Mr.  Napier's  recognition  to 
chance. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are !  "  She  turned  her  back  on  the  im 
portant  person  and  joined  Napier  with  as  much  effrontery 
as  though  the  meeting  were  what  she  so  successfully  gave 
the  impression  it  was,  a  matter  mutually  arranged.  In 
face  of  the  absence  on  his  part  of  the  least  response,  she 
walked  on  at  his  side.  "  I  'm  the  only  one  here  in  all  this 
throng,"  she  said  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  who  is  n't  wait 
ing  to  see  the  President." 

"  That 's  a  lie !  "  he  said  to  himself  as  he  stalked  on. 

"  I  'm  waiting  to  see  you.  You  must  bear  with  me,  I  'm 
afraid,"  she  said  in  gentle  accents.  "  It 's  about  Nan. 
You  have  n't  been  to  see  her  because  I  'm  there.  Is  n't 
that  a  pity?" 

Napier's  apparent  obliviousness  of  her  presence  vanished. 
He  made  no  effort  to  keep  his  indignation  out  of  his  face 
as  he  stopped  abruptly  to  say :  "  I  decline  to  discuss  that 
or  anything  else  with  you."  He  turned  his  back  on  her 


304  THE  MESSENGER 

with  unmistakable  finality,  marched  out  into  the  corridor, 
and  so  to  the  columned  porch,  with  never  a  look  behind. 

Napier  hadn't  often  betrayed  in  public  such  heat  of 
anger  as  the  woman's  audacity  had  stirred  in  him.  Much 
she  cared !  he  told  himself,  still  tingling.  She  would  shrug 
her  handsome  shoulders  and  return  to  her  senator.  Pres 
ently  she  would  be  entering  the  sanctum  Napier  had  just 
left.  To-morrow,  in  Hallett  Newcomb's  audience.  New- 
comb  was  one  of  those  Britons  invited  by  American  friends 
to  come  and  correct  transatlantic  misapprehension,  and 
to  present  facts.  Yet  even  such  unorganized  and  unof 
ficial  efforts,  so  slight  in  sum,  were  not  suffered  by  the 
thoroughgoing  German  propagandists  to  pass  unchallenged 
or  unneutralized.  In  this  connection  Roderick  Taylor  had 
set  down  to  Miss  Greta's  credit  an  astute  discovery.  It 
was  that,  as  some  one  put  the  case,  "pro- Ally  Americans 
stayed  away  from  these  meetings  in  vast  numbers."  Your 
pro- Ally  American  did  n't  need  converting.  He  was  oc 
cupied  in  other  ways.  What  he  failed  to  recognize  was 
that  in  the  absence  of  a  sufficiently  represented  pro- Ally 
element  in  these  audiences,  Miss  Greta's  confederates,  ju 
diciously  disposed  about  the  hall,  could  and  frequently  did 
get  up  a  powerful  and  "  spontaneous  "  pro-German  demon 
stration.  By  this  means  certain  meetings  convened  in  the 
interests  of  the  Allies  were  turned  into  triumph  for  their 
enemies. 

In  front  of  Napier,  at  the  office  desk  in  Miss  Ellis's  hotel, 
stood  a  man  impressing  on  the  clerk  in  an  undertone  the 
importance  of  a  letter  he  had  brought.  Could  he  have  a 
receipt  for  it?  Could  he  see  the  bell-boy  who  was  to  de- 


THE  MESSENGER  305 

liver  it?  That  business  despatched,  the  clerk  was  free 
to  attend  to  Mr.  Napier.  Yes,  he  had  been  told  a  gentle 
man  of  that  name  would  call  for  Miss  Ellis  at  7:30.  A 
bell-boy  was  waiting  to  take  Mr.  Napier  up. 

Side  by  side  in  the  elevator  they  shot  through  story 
after  story,  to  be  set  down  near  the  roof.  With  his  thumb 
pressing  the  envelop  to  a  little  brass  tray,  the  bell-boy  held 
in  its  place,  address  face-downward,  the  much-sealed 
packet  which  had  been  the  object  of  so  much  solicitude. 
At  the  end  of  an  interminable  corridor  the  bell-boy  tapped 
at  a  door.  Without  waiting,  he  opened  it  and  went  in, 
returning  almost  at  once  with  the  tray  empty  and  the  words, 
"  This  way,  sir." 

The  instant  Napier  was  over  the  threshold,  the  door  was 
shut  behind  him.  He  stood  facing  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg. 
She  had  risen  in  the  act  of  laying  the  sealed  packet  on  the 
table.  In  the  midst  of  his  surprise  Napier  mentally  reg 
istered  the  fact  that  he  had  never  seen  her  in  more  brilliant 
good  looks.  She  was  wearing  over  her  dinner  dress  a  su 
perb  fur  coat,  thrown  back  to  show  her  jeweled  neck. 

"  I  am  too  early,"  Napier  said.  "  I  will  wait  down 
stairs." 

"You  are  not  too  early.  It  is  Nan  who  is  late.  She 
won't  be  a  minute."  Miss  Greta  pointed  to  a  chair  as 
Napier  stood  that  instant  rigid  by  the  door.  "Don't," 
she  cried  softly  — "  don't  be  so  hard  upon  me !  Can't  you 
see  that  I  'm  not  standing  in  your  way  any  more  ?  " 

"  If  that  is  so,  you  have  your  own  reason  for  it."  He 
turned  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  door-handle.  These 
American  fastenings!  He  turned  the  knob  fruitlessly. 

"  Don't  be  so  hard  !  "     She  had  come  toward  him ;  her 


voice  burred  softly  over  his  shoulder.  "  When  I  'm  trying 
to  keep  the  straight  road,  don't  force  me  down  into  the 
dark  ways  I  abhor.  Oh,  listen,  Gavan !  Give  me  a  chance 
to  explain ! " 

"What's  the  matter  with  this  door?"  he  demanded. 

"  How  do  I  know  ?  "  She  pressed  her  lace  handkerchief 
to  her  lips. 

He  rattled  the  handle. 

"  For  God's  sake !  don't  make  a  scene !  "  she  cried  in  a 
harsh  whisper.  "  Are  you  so  bent  on  humiliating  me !  — 
both  in  private  and  in  public  as  you  did  this  morning? 
Another  woman  would  n't  forgive  you  this  morning.  And 
now,  again,  you  want  to  humiliate  me.  Before  hotel 
servants !  " 

"  You  told  that  bell-boy  to  fasten  the  door." 

"  Hush !  For  Nan's  sake,  anyway,  don't  make  a  scandal 
here ! " 

Napier  turned  and  looked  at  her.  "  Whatever  your  mo 
tive  is  you  are  wasting  time." 

"  Not  if  you  give  me  five  minutes  to  explain.  For  you, 
too,"  she  said  with  meaning,  "  it  won't  be  wasting  time." 

His  answer  was  to  lift  his  hand  and  press  the  electric 
bell. 

"Ah," — she  stepped  back, — "you  are  implacable! 
You  —  you  don't  care  how  much  you  injure  yourself  if  only 
you  can  injure  me.  Yes,  you  —  !  "  She  broke  off  and 
turned  away.  For  several  moments  she  stood  in  that  at 
titude,  giving  him  ample  time  to  relent,  her  meek  head 
bent,  the  dazzling  whiteness  0f  her  neck  set  off  by  the 
dark  fur  collar  falling  away  from  her  shoulders.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  a  stifled  sob  as  she  carried  her  hand- 


THE  MESSENGER  307 

kerchief  to  her  lips  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down.  "  I 
can't  disguise  it  from  myself  any  longer.  You  " —  she 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  room — "you  are  the  great 
disaster  of  my  life."  She  waited.  She  gave  him  time  to 
disavow  the  role.  "  Very  well " —  she  folded  her  arms  un 
der  the  heavy  fur  — "  very  well,"  she  repeated  with  a  quiet 
intensity,  "  I  shall  not  go  out  of  your  life,  either,  without 
leaving  my  mark.  She  shall  make  it  up  to  me !  Yes,  and 
she  shall  make  it  up  to  Julian  Grant  for  what  he  has  given 
and  lost.  Be  sure  I  shall  see  to  that !  "  She  came  forward 
with  an  air  of  great  dignity,  slipped  some  catch,  and  opened 
the  door.  "  Go !  "  she  said  in  a  penetrating  voice. 

Out  of  the  elevator  that  shot  up  in  response  to  Napier's 
ring  stepped  the  same  bell-boy.  Napier's  last  look  back 
showed  the  boy  running  down  the  corridor,  one  of  the  long 
list  of  Greta's  slaves. 

The  elevator  stopped  at  the  second  floor.  Nan  stood 
waiting. 

"  Why,"  she  exclaimed  with  boundless  surprise,  "  where 
have  you  come  from?  " 

"  There  has  been  some  mistake,"  Napier  said.  "  I  was 
taken  to  the  wrong  floor." 

"  I  should  think  so !  I  was  going  down  to  see  if  my 
message  had  been  forgotten.  Oh,  come  while  I  get  my 
gloves." 

She  disappeared  through  a  sitting-room  into  a  room  be- 
y.ond.  Clearly  Greta  had  taken  some  trouble  to  achieve  her 
brief  tete-a-tete. 

As  Nan  came  back,  drawing  on  a  long  white  glove,  Na 
pier  was  aware  of  some  one  flying  down  the  stairs,  some  one 
for  whom  express  elevators  ran  too  slowly.  A  moment 


308  THE  MESSENGER 

after  the  terrified  face  of  the  bell-boy  appeared  at  the  open 
door.  "  Come !  Come  quick !  She  's  dying !  " 

"  Who  is  dying  ?  What  has  happened  ? "  Nan  de 
manded. 

"  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,"  he  gasped.     "  Quick !  " 

"  But  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  has  gone  out !  " 

"  No !  no  !  She  's  up-stairs.  Come  quick,  or  it  will  be 
too  late."  He  rushed  to  the  elevator  and  rang.  "  It 's 
coming !  "  he  cried  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Is  he  crazy  ?  "  Nan  asked,  dazed,  but  following  Na 
pier. 

"  It  is  probably  some  device  to  prevent  your  going  out 
with  me,"  he  said  as  the  elevator  stopped. 

Again  the  boy  sped  down  that  interminable  upper  cor 
ridor,  the  two  hurrying  at  his  heels. 

"  I  '11  wait  for  you,"  Napier  said.  They  had  come  to 
the  door  which  the  boy  had  not  dared  to  open  till  he  was 
supported  by  the  presence  of  others.  He  knocked  now, 
opened,  and  stood  back. 

Greta,  in  the  arm-chair,  the  fur  coat  at  her  feet,  had 
flung  bare  arms  out  across  the  table  and  half  sat,  half  lay 
there,  moaning,  with  hidden  face. 

Nan  rushed  in  and  took  the  woman  in  her  arms.  Na 
pier,  full  of  disgust  for  what  he  looked  on  as  a  piece  of 
cheap  theatricalism,  was  startled  as  the  face  fell  back 
against  Nan's  shoulder.  That  it  should  be  so  blotched,  so 
disfigured  in  that  short  time,  bore  witness  to  the  violence 
of  whatever  the  feeling  was  that  had  torn  and  still  was 
tearing  the  woman.  More  than  by  any  other  sign,  the 
fact  that  her  heavy  hair  had  become  loosened  unbecomingly, 


THE  MESSENGER  309 

grotesquely,  brought  Napier  the  conviction  that  for  once 
Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  was  n't  acting.  The  great  yel 
low  mass  of  braids  and  curls  had  lurched  over  one  ear,  giv 
ing  a  look  more  of  drunkenness  than  grief  to  the  convulsed 
face.  That  one  glimpse  was  enough.  Napier  turned  away 
and  paced  the  corridor  for  those  leaden-footed  minutes  till 
Nan  ran  out,  looking  blindly  up  and  down. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  Oh,  the  most  cruel,  awful  thing  has 
happened  !  She  has  just  had  his  letter.  Greta's  lover  — 
Count  Ernst  Pforzheim  is  dead."  The  girl's  eyes  were 
full  of  tears.  "  Think  of  poor  Greta  running  away  up 
here  to  hide  herself  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  my  pleas 
ure  !  "  She  turned  back  to  the  room. 

"  Have  you  heard  —  any  details  ?  "  Napier  detained 
her  to  ask. 

"  Only  that  he  died  for  the  fatherland." 

For  all  Taylor's  professed  anxiety  to  have  Napier's  report 
of  his  interview  with  the  President,  he  was  late.  He  was 
very  late.  Macray  had  looked  in  twice,  the  lines  in  his 
sallow  face  deepening  as  the  black-rimmed  glasses  verified 
the  solitary  figure  in  the  room. 

Finally  he  came  in  and  closed  the  door.  He  crossed  the 
long  room  and  stood  at  Napier's  side  before  he  said  with 
that  brisk  familiarity  that  cost  Napier  something  not  to 
resent :  "  Remember  that  shady  Bureau  de  Change,  Mr. 
Taylor  told  you  about  ?  "  As  Napier  did  not  instantly  re 
spond,  Macray  went  on  in  his  gloomy  telegraphese,  "  Sus 
picious  boom  since  Schwarz's  reappearance." 

Oh,  yes,  Napier  remembered  that. 


310  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Hahn  —  fellow  we  've  had  investigating  —  been  wait 
ing  for  Taylor  two  mortal  hours.  Off  to  Chicago  to-night 
—  Hahn.  'Fore  he  goes,  detail  in  bureau  business  got  to 
be  established.  Hahn  wants  to  go  openly  —  one  of  the  pub 
lic —  see  'f  he  c'n  do  business." 

"  Well,  what 's  the  objection  ?  " 

"  No  objection.  Only  Taylor  's  kept  him  waitin'  such  an 
infernal  time,  Hahn  won't  be  able  lay  hands  on  anybody 
right  sort  before  bureau  shuts.  Wants  a  witness.  Fel 
low  seems  think  I  c'n  hang  fishin'-line  out  the  window  and 
hook  what  he  calls  '  suitable  witness.'  S'pose  you 
would  n't  ?  " 

Napier  was  growing  accustomed  to  exigencies  and  odd 
manners.  He  had  the  man  in.  Once  or  twice  before  he  'd 
seen  here  the  clean-shaven  young  German-American,  with 
his  look  of  the  typical  waiter  (which  he  was  n't)  over-fed, 
under-exercised,  a  little  scornful,  with  a  leaden  eye  fixed 
on  the  main  chance.  One  thought  instinctively  of  tips 
as  one's  own  eye,  leaden  or  otherwise,  took  in  his  "  wait 
ing"  air.  He  regarded  his  prospective  companion  with 
out  enthusiasm. 

"  You  can't  wear  a  stove-pipe  hat,"  he  said,  "  and  you  'd 
have  to  borrow  a  different  overcoat." 

Napier's  instinctive  reluctance  was  overborne  by  Macray's 
misinterpreting  its  origin.  "  Schwarz  won't  be  there. 
No  fear !  All  same,  no  sense  exciting  remark." 

Napier  in  his  turn  made  no  secret  of  the  ground  of  his 
special  interest  in  the  enterprise.  "  Why  do  you  think 
she  's  behind  this  concern  ?  " 

Macray's  curt :  "  Don't  think.  Know,"  decided  Na 
pier. 


THE  MESSENGEK  311 

Two  flights  up,  in  a  derelict  office  building  on  lower 
Broadway,  they  found  a  back  room  with  a  number  on  the 
door.  It  bore  no  business  sign,  no  name. 

The  arrangement  that  Hahn  should  do  the  talking  was 
initiated  in  the  German  tongue  as  they  climbed  the  dingy 
stairs.  Napier's  secret  uneasiness  took  alarm  at  the  sound 
of  steps  behind.  He  looked  back.  On  the  first  landing, 
under  the  flaring  gas,  which  of  itself  was  a  sign  of  the 
outworn  character  of  the  place,  a  shabby  old  man  in  a  fur 
cap  was  coming  up  behind  them.  Coming  stealthily,  Na 
pier  felt.  But  Hahn  talked  on  stolidly  about  a  hypothetical 
family  in  Karlsruhe.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  and  then 
went  in. 

A  hairless  head,  with  outstanding  ears,  bent  over  a  table, 
reading.  The  gas  jet,  directly  above,  was  set  in  a  green 
tin  reflector,  and  all  the  light  in  the  room  seemed  to  con 
centrate  itself  on  that  corpse-white  cranium;  or,  rather, 
the  effect  was  as  though  the  masked  light,  instead  of  be 
ing  thrown  on  the  man's  head,  had  its  origin  there.  A 
polished  and  luminous  orb,  it  seemed  to  contain  the 
shining  like  one  of  those  porcelain  globes  over  the  old-time 
lamps. 

"  Is  dis  de  blace  vhere  I  can  send  money  to  Sharmany  ?  " 
Hahn  inquired. 

"Yep,"  said  the  clerk.     "Shut  the  door,  will  you?" 

Hahn  had  not  budged.     "Bott  safe,  hein?"  he  said. 

"  Absolute."  The  man  got  up  and  shut  the  door.  It 
was  a  draf ty  old  place,  he  explained.  "  Safe  ?  "  he  went 
on,  resuming  his  place  and  gathering  the  light  to  himself 
again.  This  was  not  only  a  safe  way ;  it  was  the  only  safe 
way.  • 


312  THE  MESSENGER 

Hahn  produced  a  worn  pocket-book.  He  wanted  to  send 
fifteen  dollars  to  Karslruhe. 

Fifteen  dollars?  It  was  a  long  way  to  send  only  fifteen 
dollars.  The  worst  of  it  was,  the  commission  was  heavier 
in  proportion  for  a  small  sum  like  that.  It  cost  the  com 
pany  as  much  to  send  fifteen  dollars  as  it  would  cost  to 
send  five  hundred. 

"  Vot  gompany  ?  " 

"  This  one.     Who  sent  you  here  ?  " 

"  Fleischmann,  Sevent'  Avenue." 

"  Well,  did  n't  he  tell  you  about  the  company  ?  " 

"  All  Fleischmann  tell  me  is  de  address."  What  he 
wanted,  Hahn  went  on,  was  to  send  fifteen  dollars  every 
fortnight. 

"  Oh,  every  fortnight."  The  polished  head  bent  over 
the  address. 

Hahn  opened  his  pocket-book  and  fingered  some  bills. 
But  how  was  he  to  know  the  money  would  reach  Karls 
ruhe  ? 

"  Simple  enough ;  we  guarantee  it.  I  give  you  a  receipt." 
The  man  opened  a  book  of  printed  forms,  dipped  a  pen 
into  a  dirty  inkstand,  and  wrote  the  date. 

How  long,  the  visitor  insisted,  before  he  would  hear 
from  his  family  that  the  money  had  come? 

"  Depends  on  how  soon  they  write."  The  tone  was  dis 
tinctly  superior.  "  Family  habits  in  these  matters  are 
different,  we  find." 

His  family  acknowledged  their  letters  instantly,  Hahn 
said,  if  they  got  them.  They  had  n't  been  getting  them. 

"  You  have  been  here  before  ?  " 

"  No." 


THE  MESSENGER  313 

"  I  thought  not.  Then  why  did  you  expect  your  letters 
to  get  through,  above  all  if  they  had  money  in  them?" 
The  unshadowed  eyes  in  the  pudding  visage  rested  on  the 
three  five-dollar  bills  Hahn  still  held  in  his  hand. 

Hahn  wished  to  know  how  soon  he  might  hear  if  his 
family  acknowledged  at  once. 

"  As  a  rule  inside  six  weeks." 

What  would  be  the  longest  time,  Hahn  then  wished  to 
know. 

"Two  months—" 

"  It  is  a  lie ! "  came  from  a  crack  in  the  noiselessly 
opened  door.  At  a  child's  height  from  the  floor  a  fur  cap 
was  thrust  in.  The  gray  beard  sticking  out  beyond  the 
mangy  headgear  gave  the  old  face  a  fierceness  instantly  con 
tradicted  by  the  eyes. 

"  I  haf  a  letter,"  he  said,  trembling  with  excitement. 
"  De  money  I  send  two.  mont'  before  Christmas  it  nefer 
come.  De  money  my  friend  send  free  veek  before  dat, 
it  nefer  come.  You  gif  me  my  money  back !  "  He  came 
in,  swinging  his  greasy  coat-tails  about  his  shambling  legs. 
"  Here  is  de  baper  to  show  you  get  my  money." 

The  altercation  went  on  in  German,  with  excuses, 
threats.  "  Get  out,  or  the  police  — " 

"  Oh,  you  vill  not  like  bolice  here." 

There  was  righteous  anger  on  the  part  of  the  man  at  the 
desk;  but  a  certain  caution,  too.  Nobody  could  say  at  a 
time  like  this  that  in  one  case  out  of  thousands  something 
wholly  unforeseen  might  not  happen  to  delay  — 

"  It  is  not  delayed !  "  the  little  man  screamed.  "  It 
did  not  come !  It  vill  not  come !  Vhere  is  it  ?  Gif  it 
back !  " 


314  THE  MESSENGEK 

"  Ah-h,  I  remember  you  now !  "  the  unlashed  eyelids  nar 
rowed.  "  In  your  case,  and  to  an  address  like  that  — " 

"  Vot  de  matter  vid  the  address  ? "  screamed  the  old 
man.  "  Berfectly  goot  address !  " 

"  I  warned  you  it  would  be  wisest  to  insure."  He  turned 
bruskly  away  from  the  agitated  figure.  "  I  will  talk  to 
you  when  I  've  finished.  These  gentlemen  are  in  a  hurry." 

"  Not  at  all.  No,  certainly  not."  Hahn  backed  to  the 
door.  He  would  wait. 

"  Vy  to  insure,"  the  old  man  was  shrilling,  "  if  to  send 
by  you  is,  like  you  said,  so  safe  ?  Hein  ?  "  He  leaned  over 
and  hammered  the  ink-stained  desk  with  a  dirty  fist. 

The  man  behind  the  receipt-book  shifted  his  position. 
He  got  up,  and  the  light  in  the  globe  he  bore  on  his  shoul 
ders  was  extinguished  as  by  the  turn  of  a  screw.  Hands 
in  pocket,  he  stood  in  a  shadow  above  the  green  reflector. 
"  Safe,  money  undoubtedly  is,  in  our  hands.  If,"  he  re 
peated,  "  in  one  case  out  of  a  thousand  it  gets  out  of  our 
hands,  what  then  ?  Maybe  you  have  heard  there  is  a  war  ? 
Maybe  you  can  read  ?  " 

The  old  man  gibbered  with  rage  and  offended  pride ; 
but  the  lines  of  defeat,  which  life  had  stamped  on  his  face, 
deepened. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  other,  with  an  effrontery  that  said 
he  had  marked  the  signs,  "  since  you  can  read,  you  know 
who  it  is  who  robs  the  mails.  Only  twice  since  the  war 
have  they  caught  us,  and  we  have  sent  tens  of  thousands 
of  dollars.  Ask  the  thieves  of  English  where  your  money 
is!" 

"  Ai ! "  In  the  middle  of  the  tirade  the  old  man  had 
turned  away  and  spread  out  his  hands  in  impotent  grief. 


THE  MESSENGER  315 

"  In  war,"  the  agent  called  after  the  broken  figure  — 
"  in  war  it  is  wise  to  insure." 

"  Gone !  All  gone !  Ai !  "  The  quavering  old  voice 
trailed  down  the  dingy  stair. 

Hahn  mumbled  an  excuse,  and  the  two  new  clients 
withdrew  despite  vigorous  protests.  Once  outside  the 
room,  Hahn  plunged  down  the  two  nights  as  though  in 
fear  of  his  life.  When  Napier  reached  the  street  there 
was  no  trace  anywhere  of  either  the  old  man,  or  of  Hahn. 

He  recognized  their  collaboration  in  the  account  given 
in  the  New  York  papers,  a  few  days  later,  of  an  exposure 
of  one  of  the  several  concerns,  all,  it  was  hinted,  under  one 
(unnamed)  management  which,  with  no  capital  beyond  a 
back  room,  a  table,  a  chair,  and  a  clerk  behind  a  book  of 
receipt  "  blanks,"  raked  in  hundreds  and  thousands  from 
gullible  people  who  thought  they  were  helping  their  friends 
in  Germany. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

SCHWARZENBERG  and  her  friends  will  be  a  little 
straitened  for  a  while  after  this,"  said  Taylor. 

The  expression  "  her  friends "  grated  on  Napier,  and 
Napier  was  already  in  a  restless,  uncertain  mood.  Taylor 
had  noticed  that.  Significant  as  both  men  "  deemed  "  the 
interview  with  the  President,  Napier  had  hurried  over  it 
to  canvass  and  sift  the  Halm  adventure. 

Taylor,  lounging  on  the  sofa,  sipped  his  liqueur  at  his 
ease.  How  did  he  know  the  bulk  of  the  bureau's  money 
went  into  Schwarzenberg's  pocket?  Two  reasons.  First, 
she  'd  earned  it.  Languishing  business  doing  a  roaring 
trade  from  the  moment  she  took  hold.  Second,  the  fellow 
she  set  to  watch  the  rogues  she  'd  put  in  charge  was  a 
rogue  himself. 

"  Oh,  we  've  deserved  well  of  our  country  in  blocking  up 
a  few  of  those  rat-holes,"  Taylor  concluded. 

"  My  interest  in  it,"  Napier  paused  to  say,  "  was  n't  pure 
patriotism.  It's  made  me  pretty  sick  to  see  this  Miss 
Ellis  —  rather  a  friend  of  mine  she  is,  very  intimate  with 
my  chief's  family  —  so  hopelessly  taken  in.  I  had  an  idea 
this  bureau  business  might  show  up  — 

Taylor  abandoned  his  lounging  posture.  He  sat  looking 
at  Napier  very  steadily  out  of  his  greenish  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  quite  understand,"  Napier  went  on,  "  the  ex 
posure  is  too  discreet  to  be  of  any  use  to  me." 

"  I  should  rather  think  so !  "  remarked  Mr.  Taylor. 
316 


THE  MESSENGER  317 

"  All  the  same,  it  is  n't  fair,  leaving  people  like  the 
Ellises  in  the  dark.  The  mother  is  off  to  the  Pacific 
coast  to-morrow."  Napier  added  that  he  was  due  at  their 
hotel  in  half  an  hour.  He  was  going  to  talk  to  them,  he 
said. 

Still  Taylor  sat  there,  regarding  his  guest  through  a 
haze  of  cigar  smoke.  "  I  thought,"  he  said  after  a  moment, 
"  you  mentioned  that  you  had  talked  to  them  —  to  the  girl, 
anyway." 

"  I  said  I  'd  told  Miss  Ellis  what  Singleton  found  in 
Schwarzenberg's  box.  And  God  knows  that  ought  to  have 
been  enough — " 

"  Too  much,"  said  Taylor,  quietly.  "  Of  course  they 
passed  it  on  to  Schwarzenberg." 

Napier  doubted  that.  "  You  don't  know  the  Ellises," 
he  said,  ignoring  the  limitations  of  his  own  acquaintance. 
Xo,  his  mistake  had  not  been  in  telling  too  much.  His 
mistake  was  that  he  had  n't  told  the  Ellises  enough.  He 
was  going  to  repair  the  mistake  to-night. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  do  that  ? "  Taylor  asked  in 
the  same  careful  tone. 

By  telling  them  —  telling  the  girl,  anyway  —  that  he  'd 
avoided  telling  her  before  —  the  proved  desperate  character 
of  this  woman's  accomplices. 

A  peculiar  fixity  came  into  Taylor's  green  eyes. 

"  You  can't  pass  on  information  we  've  put  in  your  way 
here." 

"Certainly  not,"  returned  Napier  with  some  heat. 
"  What  I  shall  tell  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  you. 
I  sha'n't  hint  bureau."  Again  he  consulted  his  watch. 
The  time  dragged. 


318  THE  MESSENGER 

"  You  'd  mind,  I  suppose,  giving  me  an  idea  what  you 
do  mean  to  hint  ?  " 

"  I  sha'n't  hint  at  all.  And  I  've  come  here  to-night 
expressly  to  tell  you,  first,  that  I  mean  the  Ellises  to  know 
about  Gull  Island.  About  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg's  con 
nection  with  it  and  with  the  man  we  found  there." 

There  was  silence  in  the  room. 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  wondering  why,  in  the  face  of  the 
exigency,  I  've  put  it  off  ?  " 

Taylor  had  stopped  smoking,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  If  I  'd  told  her  what  I  found  Carl  Pforzheim  up  to  on 
Gull  Island,  she  'd  have  to  know  what  became  of  Carl. 
Well,  I  'm  now  going  to  tell  her." 

"  You  can't  do  that !  "  Taylor  had  come  to  life.  He 
leaned  forward,  blinking  his  white  lashes  as  if  a  cinder  had 
blown  in  his  eye. 

"Why  can't  I?" 

"  For  one  thing,  telling  the  Ellises  would  be  as  good  as 
giving  Schwarzenberg  the  key  to  the  whole  Gull  Island 
business." 

"Well,  why  not?  Do  her  good.  Put  the  fear  of  God 
into  her,  perhaps.  And  she  can't  spoil  a  game  that 's  over 
and  ended." 

Taylor  laid  down  his  cigar. 

"  The  Gull  Island  game,"  he  said  in  his  guarded  voice, 
"  is  n't  over  and  ended." 

Napier  stood  waiting. 

"  We  've  got  one  of  our  best  men  there  this  minute,  per 
sonating  Carl  Pforzheim."  Taylor  nodded  in  the  face  of 
Napier's  stark  astonishment.  "  Your  friend  Singleton. 
He  's  managed  the  Gull  Island  job  from  the  beginning. 


THE  MESSENGER  319 

Went  up  again  the  day  after  you  were  there.  Wirelessed 
the  German  agent  at  Amsterdam  that  he  'd  had  wind  of  a 
raid  on  the  island.  He  was  going  to  destroy  every  trace 
and  get  out.  Singleton  saw  to  it  that  the  truth  of  that 
much  was  verified,  and  duly  reported  to  the  Wilhelmstrasse. 
He  promised  them  —  still,  of  course,  in  the  character  of 
Pforzheim  —  to  get  back  to  the  island  as  soon  as  it  was 
safe.  Well,  he  has  got  back." 

"What  the  devil  could  he  tell  of  any  use  to  Germany 
that  was  n't  fatal  to  us  ?"  Napier  demanded. 

"  You  don't  yet  appreciate  the  situation,"  Taylor  said 
softly.  "  It 's  a  post  of  special  advantage  just  because  the 
man  in  charge  can  choose  his  own  time  to  be  there.  He 
can  give  important  information  that  reaches  Germany  the 
merest  trifle  too  late,  or  information  that  he  knows  they  've 
had  already  from  another  quarter.  They  're  fond  of  veri 
fying  their  intelligence.  And  he  tells  them  things  they 
want  to  believe  and  can't  check  —  things  they  have  to  take 
his  word  for,  things  that  will  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  they 
count  on  seeing  clearest.  I  tell  you,  Gull  Island  is  one  of 
the  cogs  in  the  wheel  of  the  British  machine.  You  won't 
mind  if  I  'm  frank  ?  Well,  then,  you  'd  have  hard  work  to 
commit  any  indiscretion  " —  Taylor  rubbed  it  in  — "  that 
would  serve  Schwarzenberg's  ends  so  well  as  to  enable  her 
to  warn  the  Germans  that  a  British  decoy  was  nesting  in 
Carl  Pforzheim's  place." 

As  he  stood  there,  a  prey  to  increasing  uneasiness,  Na 
pier  had  his  further  glimpse  of  one  of  the  disintegrating 
effects  of  wartime:  the  unknown  quantity  in  character. 
How  that  had  been  forced  home!  Taylor  had  seemed 
"  one  of  the  best."  No  one  in  the  British  service  was  more 


320  THE  MESSENGER 

trusted,  and,  Napier's  instinct  told  him,  no  one  more 
justly.  None  the  less,  Napier  did  n't  see  headquarters 
writing  "  all  this  "  from  the  other  side. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  found  himself  saying,  "  I  ought  n't  to 
ask  you  how  you  heard  about  the  decoy  duck  on  the  is 
land  ?  " 

"  Well  " —  Taylor  reflected  an  instant, — "  after  all,  my 
instructions  —  yes,  I  '11  tell  you.  I  have  it  on  the  best 
possible  authority.  Ernst  Pforzheim  told  me." 

"  Ernst !  Ernst  Pforzheim  is  in  an  English  prison,  or 
rather,  he  was  before  — 

"  Exactly.  Before  he  became  of  such  use  to  our  side. 
Clever  dog  as  that  fellow  Singleton  is,  he  could  n't  have 
worked  the  Gull  Island  oracle  without  Ernst  Pforzheim's 
help." 

Ernst  had  helped  Singleton  !  No !  no  !  there  were  limits. 
It  was,  anyway,  safe  to  say,  "  You  must  in  that  case  rather 
deplore  his'  death." 

"  What  makes  you  think  he  's  dead  ?  "  Taylor  asked. 

"  His  particular  friend,  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg,  had 
the  news  yesterday." 

"She  had,  had  she?  Ha!  ha!  The  canny  Ernst!" 
Taylor  subdued  his  mirth  to  say:  "Just  so.  Wilhelm- 
strasse  does  n't  have  the  news.  We  're  all  right ;  and 
Master  Ernst  can  go  on  drawing  pay  from  two  govern 
ments.  Oh,  he 's  a  very  practical  person,  is  Ernst.  The 
situation  is  his  own  invention.  A  piece  of  '  war  economy,' 
he  called  it.  '  You  English  hard  up  for  ammunition. 
Why  waste  it  shooting  a  spy  when  he  can  give  you  more 
valuable  information  than  anybody  in  the  German  Secret 
Service?'" 


THE  MESSENGER  321 

"  You  can't  seriously  mean  we  were  such  fools  as  to  trust 
a  man  like  that  ?  " 

"  So  far  from  trusting  him,  we  keep  him  under  sur 
veillance  every  hour  of  his  life.  Two  of  our  men  specially 
detailed." 

"  You  are  n't  telling  me  he 's  over  here !  " 

"  Been  here  six  weeks." 

"  Then  he 's  a  free  man !  " 

Taylor  smiled.  "  A  man  who 's  been  doing  the  sort 
of  business  Ernst  has,  is  never  a  free  man.  Nobody  knows 
better  than  Ernst  how  little  his  life  would  be  worth  if  he 
took  any  liberties.  And  why  should  he?  This  is  his 
harvest-time.  He  knows  he  '11  get  more  out  of  us  than  — : 

"  Than  out  of  Germany  ?  " 

"  They  'd  ask  very  awkward  questions  of  Ernst  in  Ger 
many;  he  can  evade  them  here.  But  there's  a  day  of 
reckoning  waiting  for  Mr.  Ernst  in  the  fatherland.  No 
one  knows  better  than  he  tbat  he's  safer  with  us,  looked 
after  by  two  capital  fellows,  till  after  the  war.  Then  off 
to  South  America  with  a  fat  bank-account.  And,  by  Jove ! 
he  '11  have  earned  it !  The  cheek  of  the  devil !  Except 
for  one  enterprise !  "  and  Mr.  Taylor  chuckled  as  he  relit 
his  cigar. 

"  We  'd  been  wondering,"  he  went  on,  "  Macray  and  I, 
why  the  beggar  had  grown  so  content  never  to  go  out.  No 
more  music,  no  theater,  no  smart  restaurants,  and  so  far 
as  we  could  see,  no  reason  on  earth  why,  with  one  or  other 
of  the  men  who  stick  to  him  day  and  night,  he  should  n't 
revisit  his  old  haunts.  Not  he ! "  Again  that  pleased 
chuckle.  "  Not  so  long  as  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  is 
circulating  about  New  York !  " 


322  THE  MESSENGEK 

"  Why,  he  and  she  are,  or  they  were,  thick  as  thieves." 

Taylor  nodded. 

"  And  it  would  be  undeniably  useful  to  us  to  have  that 
relation  continue.  It 's  where  our  friend  draws  the  line. 
'  All  very  well  to  laugh,'  he  says  to  me,  '  you  don't  know 
the  woman.  I  do.  Nein,  danke.'  So  he  sits  and  smokes 
and  plays  cards,  drinks  and  overeats  himself,  and  is  losing 
his  figure.  I  can  take  you  round  any  evening,  and  you  '11 
see  for  yourself." 

"  I  've  come  to  say  good-by."  Napier  stood  before  Nan 
Ellis  in  the  great  public  parlor  of  her  hotel.  More  and 
more  his  most  private  experiences  of  American  life  had 
seemed  conditioned  by  the  vast  restlessness  of  these  places. 
He  noticed  that  Nan,  like  many  of  her  compatriots,  was 
able  to  achieve  an  obliviousness  to  such  surroundings  that 
amounted  to  a  kind  of  privacy. 

Instead  of  relinquishing  his  hand,  she  had  clutched  it 
tighter :  "  You  are  not  going  back  to  England  ?  " 

"  What 's  the  use  of  my  staying  here  ?  " 

"  The  use  ?  "  She  let  his  hand  go.  Napier  received  the 
impression  that  the  lowering  of  her  tone  was  less  attribut 
able  to  two  or  three  other  absorbed  groups  seated  about 
the  great  room,  than  to  some  sudden  rush  of  feeling  that 
clouded  her  voice.  "  You  are  safe  here." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment.  Deliberately  he  shook 
off  the  impression  her  tone  more  than  her  words  had  made. 
"  No," —  he  shook  his  head, — "  I  'm  far  from  safe  where 
you  can  ring  me  up." 

"  You  don't  like  me  to  ring  you  up  ?  " 

He   could  have  laughed   if  he  'd  been  less  oppressed. 


THE  MESSENGER  323 

"It's  no  use.  I  see  I  can't  do  anything  to  protect  you. 
I  might  as  well  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  world." 

"  No !  no !  "  she  protested  with  an  eagerness  that  caught 
her  breath.  "Besides,  you  are  very  far  from  sure  of 
getting  to  the  other  side  of  the  world  as  things  are." 

His  look  of  angry  scorn,  for  the  contingency  implied, 
agitated  her. 

"  Oh,  do  believe  me !  This  is  a  thing  I  know  more  about 
than  you  do." 

"  It  is  n't  a  knowledge  you  should  have,"  he  said  sternly. 

She  swept  the  rebuke  aside  in  her  alarm.  "  Don't 
imagine,"  she  said  in  that  strained  undertone — "don't 
imagine  the  warnings  in  the  papers  are  n't  serious.  It  is 
one  of  the  things  I  could  n't  write.  Why  did  n't  you  come 
and  see  me  and  my  mother  last  Thursday  ?  " 

He  was  aware  of  being  as  little  able  now,  to  make  idle 
conversation  with  Nan,  as  he  had  been  that  night,  after 
Taylor  had  barred  all  use  of  the  Gull  Island  evidence.  He 
dropped  out  mumbled  phrases,  "  Unexpected  business," 
having  "  to  go  to  Washington,"  and  was  there  anything 
else  she  had  n't  been  able  to  write  ? 

Yes,  yes.  There  was  a  great  deal  more,  more  than  she 
had  any  right  to  say.  But  this  much  she  must  tell  him: 
"  You  are  n't  to  ask  me  how  I  know,  and  you  won't  ask 
me  to  tell  you  more  than  I  've  a  right  to.  I  have  a  right !  " 
She  flashed  an  instant's  defiance  at  some  unseen  opponent, 
"or  I'll  take  it,  anyhow.  The  torpedoing  is  going  to  be 
extended.  Yes!"  she  said  as  though  to  convince  her  own 
shrinking  incredulity  as  much  as  his.  "  Neutral  as  well  as 
enemy  ships.  They  're  going  on  till  England  is  as  isolated 
as  she  's  isolated  Germany.  If  England  won't  believe  that, 


324  THE  MESSENGER 

if  England  does  n't  realize" —  she  waited  an  instant  as  if 
to  give  him  time  to  throw  out  a  life-line  of  hope  to  her 
proviso, — "  then,"  she  said  as  she  took  in  Napier's  motion 
less  figure  and  stern  face  — "  then  what 's  before  us  is  too 
horrible." 

"I  am  glad  you  recognize  the  horror  of  the  German 
policy." 

"  What  good  will  that  do ! "  she  began  hurriedly,  "  if 
you  — "  and  then  half  to  herself :  "  But  you  simply 
mustn't  go!  You  didn't  know,  perhaps,"  she  leaned 
nearer,  "passenger-boats  have  been  carrying  guns." 

"Really?"  said  Napier. 

She  nodded.  "  It 's  true.  And  that 's  why  the  Ger 
mans  say  they  will  sink  passenger-boats.  So  they  can't 
be  used  any  more  by  travelers,  now  that  they  're  warned." 

"  You  see  it  as  simple  as  that  ?  Germany  is  to  tell  neu 
trals  they  are  not  to  travel  even  in  neutral  waters !  " 

"  If  we  don't  use  passenger-boats  for  passenger-boats, 
they  are  n't  passenger-boats  any  more."  (Napier  heard 
Schwarzenberg  speaking.)  "They  go  loaded  to  the 
guards !  Yes,  war  material  for  the  Allies." 

"  If  that  is  so,  why  is  it  ?  Would  you  see  the  Allies  pun 
ished,  enslaved,  because  the  Allies  have  n't,  as  Germany 
has,  devoted  the  last  forty  years  to  making  and  accumu 
lating  arms?  Germany — " 

"  Oh,  it 's  A  merica  I  'm  thinking  of  —  after  you !  "  she 
threw  in.  "  If  America's  part  is  going  to  be  just  to  grow 
rich  and  richer  out  of  this  awfulness,  I  don't  know  how 
I  shall  bear  it.  And  that 's  what  I  'm  telling  Julian.  But 
all  that," — •'she  swept  it  aside  with  one  of  those  quick  mo 
tions  of  a  flashing  hand, — "  if  I  ~beg  you  not  to  go  — " 


THE  MESSENGEE  325 

"  It 's  no  use,"  said  Napier. 

"  Nothing  I  could  say  or  do  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said  with  hurt  mouth  that  quiv 
ered,  "  what  is  the  name  of  your  boat  ?  " 

He  considered  a  moment.  "  Don't  you  think  it  would 
be  very  indiscreet  of  me  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  the  discreetest  thing  you  ever  did  in  your 
life." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  because  " —  again  she  bent  to  him  — 
"  because  there 's  a  black-list."  He  saw  her  eyes  bright 
with  terror.  "  You  must  give  me  time  to  find  out.  .  .  ." 

"  I  see,"  he  interrupted.  "  You  would  like  me  to  owe 
my  life  to  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg." 

"  To  me,  Gavan," —  the  pallor  of  her  face  yielded  to  a 
sudden  flush, — "  if  you  could  bear  that." 

"  I  have  n't  decided  on  my  boat,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  thought  you  came  to  say  good-by  ?  " 

He  was  going  on  a  few  weeks'  tour  on  this  side,  he  said. 

Oh,  the  lightening  in  her  face.  He  seemed  bent  only  on 
teasing  her  a  little,  in  withholding  the  answer  to  her  quick : 
"  Whereabouts  are  you  going  to  tour  ?  "  When  she  had 
waited  for  the  answer  that  did  n't  come  she  said :  "  You  're 
afraid  I  '11  tell.  Everybody  's  afraid  every  one  else  will 
tell.  Everybody  's  changed." 

"Not  Miss  Greta,  surely?" 

"  Greta  as  much  as  anybody,"  she  flung  out.  And  then, 
as  though  she  regretted  that  ebullition,  she  added  hastily: 
"  I  suppose  I  must  n't  ask  you  —  what  next,  after  the  few 
weeks'  tour." 


326  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Yes,  you  may  ask  that,"  Napier  said,  the  smile  going 
out  of  his  eyes.  "  France  next." 

They  parted  with  no  hint  from  him  of  the  fact  that  one 
result  of  his  second  visit  to  Washington  had  been  an  ex 
tension  of  the  highly  successful  unofficial  mission. 

For  Taylor  had  been  right  in  saying  the  old  sharp  de 
marcations  between  government  departments  were  being 
erased.  More  and  more  diplomacy  impinged  on  the  twin 
provinces  of  trade  and  world  finance.  The  astute  were 
beginning  to  see  that  the  problem  of  munitions  was  own 
brother  to  food  supply,  which  in  its  turn  was  a  matter  of 
transport.  In  view  of  the  now  frequent  sinkings  of  Allied 
ships,  not  only  South  American  meat,  wheat,  but  South 
American  tonnage,  might  become  of  supreme  importance 
in  a  protracted  war.  Unfortunately,  German  influence 
had  attained  dangerous  proportions  in  those  remote,  fertile 
areas  below  the  equator.  Napier  and  another  unofficial 
British  envoy  received  orders  from  home  to  proceed  to  Rio 
on  instructions  from  the  British  Ambassador  at  Washing 
ton. 

He  returned  to  New  York  early  in  May,  to  find  the 
country  in  a  state  of  excitement  such  as  the  United  States 
had  not  known  since  the  assassination  of  Lincoln.  Some 
twenty-four  hours  before,  the  Germans  had  torpedoed  the 
Lusitania.  Fifteen  hundred  lives  had  been  sacrificed. 
The  effect  on  Napier  was  the  effect  on  many.  The  Lusi 
tania  dead  recruited  tens  of  thousands. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  his  arrival  in  New  York, 
Napier  returned  to  his  hotel,  having  engaged  passage  to 
England  by  the  next  ship. 

A  lady,  he  was  told,  waited  to  see  him.     What  lady  was 


THE  MESSENGER  327 

likeliest  to  have  news  so  quickly  of  his  arrival  ?  He  shrank 
from  the  thought  of  Greta  as  from  something  reptilian. 
It  couldn't  be  Greta  on  this  day  of  all  days.  And  who 
else,  but  the  being  of  all  the  world  he  most  hungered  to  see  ? 
So  thinking,  he  made  his  way  among  the  hosts  of  horror- 
stricken  people,  one  sole  theme  in  every  mouth,  Lusitania! 
Lusitania!  Some,  and  not  one  most  voluble  or  outwardly 
most  excited,  uttered  the  word  War  with  an  accent  that 
Napier  wished  might  have  been  heard  across  the  Rhine. 
He  kept  on  telling  himself  that  he  knew  it  would  be  Nan 
he  should  find  waiting;  but  he  was  not  prepared  for  the 
Nan  he  found,  nor  for  that  low  exclamation :  "  At  last ! 
At  last ! "  nor  for  the  shaken  voice  in  which  she  disposed 
of  his  question  how  had  she  known  of  his  arrival. 

"  An  arrangement  with  the  clerk/'  she  said,  to  ring  her 
up  as  soon  — 

"  Then  that  was  before !  " —  said  Napier  hungrily. 

"Yes,  before  the  awful  news."  A  shuddering  vague 
ness  seemed  to  close  about  her  like  a  mist.  It  shut  out  the 
moment's  shining  at  his  coming.  He  could  see  that  blank 
horror  at  the  tragedy  obscured  for  the  moment  everything 
else  in  life. 

Only  Napier,  it  seemed,  felt  the  added  strain  of  this 
coming  and  going  of  excited  people,  the  bringing  in  of  tele 
grams,  the  dictating  of  others.  The  girl  paid  no  more 
attention  to  the  other  people  scattered  about  the  great  room, 
to  their  tension  or  their  tears,  than  they  to  hers.  As  she 
turned  to  throw  her  trembling  body  down  in  a  chair  by 
the  window,  the  look  in  her  eyes  startled  Napier. 

"  And  did  you  see  what  the  papers  said  ?  "  she  demanded. 

The  terrible  newspaper,  accounts,  which  he  had  not  yet 


328  THE  MESSENGER 

found  time  to  read,  she  had  by  heart.  Behind  that  veil  of 
nervous  vagueness  he  caught  glimpses  of  the  intensity  of 
her  realization  —  her  participation,  one  might  almost  say 
—  in  the  scenes  off  the  Irish  coast. 

"  Had  you  any  special  friend  on  board  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Special  fr  — "  she  repeated  in  that  low  voice.  And 
then  her  note  climbed  quickly  to  what  for  her  was  the 
climax  of  the  huge  disaster.  "  They  were  Americans ! " 
So  she  confessed  that  limitation  which  a  faulty  imagina 
tion  sets  to  our  humanity  —  a  limitation  she  had  imagined 
she  despised.  "  Americans  they  were,  and  innocent.  I 
keep  thinking  most  of  the  children.  There  were  such  lots 
of  children,  Gavan,  on  that  boat.  I  kept  seeing  them  all 
night  long.  I  could  hear  their  voices  growing  weaker  — " 
her  own  failed  her  for  a  moment.  And  when  she  found  it 
again,  it  was  a  different  voice  altogether,  firm  and  bitter. 
"  People  say  to  me, '  the  Lusitania  was  warned  not  to  sail.'  " 

Yes,  Napier  had  heard 'that  was  so. 

"  As  if  that  could  excuse  —  it 's  what  Greta  says. 
'  They  were  warned,'  she  keeps  repeating.  '  They  dis 
obeyed  the  warning.'  The  little  children,  the  babies  dis 
obeyed  the  German  warning !  Oh-h  !  "  The  small  tight 
ened  fist  beat  upon  one  knee  to  call  back  the  self-control  that 
threatened  to  desert  her.  "  I  've  had  a  horrible  morning 
with  Greta.  She  —  something  has  died  in  Greta.  I  'd 
been  feeling  ever  since  — "  Again  she  broke  off  and  seemed 
to  seize  upon  comparative  commonplace  to  steady  her 
nerves.  "  It  was  true  about  her  being  married.  She  ad 
mitted  it  the  day  she  read  of  Mr.  Guedalla's  death  in  the 
paper.  She  got  some  money.  It  was  n't  her-  not  telling 
us  she  was  married ;  it  was  other  things.  Oh,  I  've  been 


THE  MESSENGER  329 

unhappy  enough!  But  this  —  this!  Gavan,  I  couldn't 
get  her  to  say  it  was  horrible.  She  wasn't  even  sorry. 
Oh,  Gavan,  she  was  glad!  "  The  locked  fingers  writhed  in 
her  lap.  She  seemed  not  to  know  that  she  was  weeping. 
"What  do  you  think  Greta  said  at  last?  '  It  would  be  a 
lesson/  she  said.  A  lesson!  To  torture  and  kill  fifteen 
hundred  innocent  people.  A  lesson  to  the  children !  To 
little  babies !  "  She  turned  her  quivering  face  away  a  mo 
ment.  "  I  think/'  she  said  under  her  broken  breath  — 
"  I  think  I  should  have  gone  mad  if  you  had  n't  come  back. 
Oh,  I  'm  so  glad  you  're  back !  " 

He  simply  had  n't  the  courage  at  that  moment  to  tell 
her  he  was  going  to  sail  for  England  the  following  day. 
He  told  her  in  a  very  gentle  note  sent  late  in  the  afternoon. 
They  were  to  dine  together. 

She  met  him  with  steady  looks. 

"  I  've  cabled  to  Julian,"  she  said  immediately,  "  that 
I  'm  coming  back  with  you." 

The  Parnassian  was  to  sail  at  ten. 

Napier  had  stood  outside  the  entrance  to  the  dock,  wait 
ing  for  Nan,  since  ten  minutes  past  nine.  At  twenty 
minutes  to  ten  there  she  was  at  last. 

"  But  where  is  your  luggage  ?  "  he  called  out.  He  had 
warned  her  not  to  trust  it  to  other  hands.  In  that  second 
before  the  cab  drew  alongside  something  in  the  face  at  the 
window  prepared  him  for  the  answer.  "  That 's  why  I  am 
late.  I  had  to  have  everything  taken  off.  And  I  tried 
to  telephone  you.  Just  as  I  was  leaving  —  this  came." 
She  held  a  paper  toward  him  as  she  got  out  of  the  cab. 
She  stood  there  while  he  read : 


330  THE  MESSENGER 

I  depend  on  your  waiting  till  I  come  sailing  to-day  Olympic. 

JULIAN. 

As  Napier  looked  up,  speechless  in  that  first  moment, 
she  whispered :  "  Serves  me  right.  Greta  said,  I  was  run 
ning  away."  She  put  out  her  hand  and  steadied  herself 
against  the  window-frame  of  the  cab.  "  Where  you  're  go 
ing  they  shoot  deserters,  don't  they !  Well,  I  've  been  shot. 
Oh,  not  fatally !  just  in  the  leg.  Enough  to  stop  me." 

"  You  are  going  to  wait  for  Julian  ?  " 

"  What  else  is  possible  ?  "  She  hung  her  head.  "  He 
and  the  others,  they  've  depended  on  me.  Well,  they  must 
not  any  more.  And  when  he  comes," — her  breast  heaved 
as  she  brought  it  out, — "  I  shall  tell  him  something  else." 

"  Tell  Julian !     What  shall  you  tell  Julian  ?  " 

The  lifted  eyes  were  swimming. 

"  That  it 's  you.  That  to  see  you  go  without  me  breaks 
my  heart." 

"  Nan ! "  he  cried  and  pulled  himself  up  with  an  effort 
that  brought  the  blood  into  his  face.  Other  passengers, 
arriving  late,  for  all  their  own  agitation  at  the  prospect 
of  some  hitch  in  getting  themselves  and  their  baggage 
on  board,  stared  back  over  their  shoulders  at  the  leave- 
taking  out  in  the  street. 

Napier  flung  a  "  Wait ! "  to  the  cabman,  and  held  his 
watch  in  one  hand.  "  Come,"  he  said  and  took  Nan  by 
the  arm.  He  walked  her  a  little  way  from  the  dock  en 
trance. 

"  I  think,"  he  went  on  gravely,  "  I  would  n't  tell  Julian. 
You  see,  Nan,  you've  got  to  consider  that  I  mayn't  be 
coming  back."  He  did  n't  look  at  her.  "  What 's  the  use 


THE  MESSENGER  331 

of  telling  Julian  ?  Is  n't  there  enough  misery  in  the  world 
without  adding  to  it  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  Julian  and  I  think,"  she  said,  blurring  her 
words.  "  Enough  misery  in  the  world  without  war.  You 
never  cared  about  that  old  misery  as  Julian  did.  And 
that 's  what  makes  it  so  —  so  — not  to  be  borne  that  you 
should  feel  you  have  to  go  and  meet  the  new  horror  out 
there." 

"  Well,  I  do  feel  like  that,"  he  said. 

"  And  yet  it  is  n't  any  longer  just  duty.  You  want  to 
go ! "  she  cried.  "  I  saw  that  yesterday  when  we  talked 
about  the  Lusitania." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  grimly,  "  I  want  to  go." 

"Well,  so  do  lots  of  my  countrymen."  And  Napier 
could  n't  have  told  whether  dismay  or  pride  was  dominant 
in  the  new  note.  His  hand  slipped  down  her  arm  and 
found  her  fingers.  Napier's  valet,  Day,  came  running  out 
of  the  dock-gates.  He  looked  distractedly  across  the  wide, 
open  space  before  the  slips. 

"Yes!"  Napier  hailed  him.  "I'll  be  there!"  He 
gripped  her  hand  hard  before  he  let  it  go.  "  I  '11  have  to 
run  for  it.  Good-by."  On  an  impulse,  whether  mere  in 
stinct  to  cover  his  emotion  or  some  obscurer  working  of 
the  mind  behind  his  wretchedness,  he  caught  Julian's  cable 
out  of  her  hold.  He  held  the  paper  in  front  of  his  misty 
eyes  as  he  hurried  toward  the  dock  entrance.  The  hour  the 
message  had  been  sent  from  London  struck  him  now  for 
the  first  time.  He  halted  suddenly.  In  a  voice  harsh  with 
the  effort  to  keep  it  steady  he  called  back:  "Did  Greta 
know  that  you  meant  to  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  came  the  panting  answer  as  the  girl  ran  forward 


332  THE  MESSENGEK 

a  few  steps.  "  I  told  her  before  I  saw  you  that  I  could  n't 
hear  it  over  here  any  longer.  And  now  you  —  you  are 
leaving  me !  "  She  stopped. 

"  You  '11  lose  the  boat,  sir !  "  Day  called  out. 

Napier's  last  vision  of  Nan  Ellis  showed  the  girl  still 
standing  there  looking  after  him  and  sobbing  openly  in  the 
street. 

This  cable,  he  knew  now  was  no  reply  to  Nan's.  It  was 
the  reply  to  some  message  sent  hours  earlier  by  Greta  von 
Schwarzenberg. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

NAPIER  and  Julian  exchanged  wireless  messages  as 
they  passed  each  other  on  the  high  seas.  "Nan  is 
waiting  for  you  in  New  York/'  was  Napier's  greeting. 

When  next  Napier  heard  of  either  of  them,  he  was  in 
France;  those  two  were  together  in  America.  Then  he 
heard  of  Nan's  being  in  London  "  for  two  weeks."  Next 
she  wrote  him  a  line  from  New  York:  "Because  Julian 
is  overworked,  and  he 's  had  horrid  letters  from  home. 
Please  write  him  something  cheerful." 

Napier  responded  to  this  invitation  by  sending  a  sealed 
packet  through  the  foreign-office  bag,  giving  a  brief  account 
of  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg's  more  pernicious  activities. 
He  ended  by  commending  Julian  to  Roderick  Taylor  for 
confirmation.  The  answer  to  this,  anxiously  waited  for, 
came  in  the  form  of  a  truly  Julianesque  denunciation  of 
all  secret  service :  "  As  long  as  we  employ  spies  we  shall 
suffer  from  spies."  Greta,  according  to  Julian,  had  been 
alarmed  and  harried  into  associations  alien  to  her  nature. 
As  to  the  incontestable  fact  that  after  being  deported,  she 
had  slipped  back  to  England  and  had  crossed  the  ocean 
disguised  as  a  Belgian,  that  was  "our  doing.  If  we  go 
interfering  with  freedom  of  travel,  we  must  expect — " 
For  his  own  part,  he  was  busied  from  morning  till  night 
about  matters  of  major  importance.  He  had  no  time  for 

333 


334  THE  MESSENGER 

fellows  like  Taylor.  In  some  ways  America  was  disap 
pointing,  but  England  was  going  from  bad  to  worse. 

From  one  and  all  of  Julian's  letters  of  that  period  Napier 
gathered  that  for  refreshment  in  a  very  dusty  time,  Julian 
bathed  his  spirit  in  Nan  Ellis's  unfailing  sympathy  and 
faith.  Driven  and  harassed  as  Julian  was,  alienated  from 
his  family,  divided  from  old  friends,  with  neither  health 
nor  energy  to  make  new,  he  seemed  able  to  wait  for  the 
girl's  slow-forming  inclination  toward  a  closer  relation, 
since  as  he  wrote  in  his  astonishing  way  — "  since  she  is  of 
such  service  to  the  work."  Her  special  "  service  "  seemed 
to  be  the  going  back  and  forth  between  London  and  New 
York. 

Through  all  that  trench  nightmare  compounded  of  dirt, 
physical  and  mental  misery,  and  hourly  danger,  the  bitter 
knowledge  was  pressed  home  that  the  being  Gavan  Napier 
loved  best  on  earth  was  crossing  and  re-crossing  the  Atlan 
tic  on  an  errand  he  abhorred.  An  errand  which  he  himself 
by  putting  the  secret-service  people  on  the  track  of  Atlantic 
contraband,  had  changed  from  something  safe  and  easy  into 
something  so  difficult  and  so  full  of  peril  that  he  quailed 
before  opening  those  letters  of  Julian's,  which  might  tell 
of  the  failure,  the  detection,  the  arrest  of  the  messenger. 

From  English  sources,  as  the  months  went  on,  echoes 
reached  Napier  in  the  trenches  of  Mr.  Julian  Grant's  writ 
ings  and  speeches  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  These 
were  utterances  of  such  a  character  as  to  bring  disaster 
upon  certain  persons  in  London  held  responsible  for  not 
foreseeing  the  inadvisability  of  allowing  the  notorious  pa 
cifist  to  cross  the  Atlantic. 

It  was  at  a  time  when  An^lo-American  relations  had 


THE  MESSENGER  335 

suffered  to  the  point  of  danger  by  the  British  authorities 
having  held  up  American  ships  carrying  supplies  which 
would  ultimately  find  their  way  through  neutral  countries 
to  Germany.  Whether  owing  to  the  fact  that  German 
propaganda  in  the  United  States  was  then  at  the  height 
of  its  success,  the  war  spirit  called  to  life  by  the  Lusitania 
disaster  languished  during  a  protracted  interchange  of 
Notes  between  the  United  States  and  the  Central  powers. 

Nan  was  as  poor  a  letter-writer  as  Julian  was  admirable. 
One  of  her  meager  little  missives  reached  Napier  soon  after 
the  so-called  "great  advance"  which  toward  the  end  of 
September,  1915,  gained  a  fragment  of  French  soil  about 
Loos  at  colossal  cost. 

"  I  want  you  to  know,"  she  wrote,  "  that  I  've  been  learn 
ing  these  last  months  in  New  York  what  the  triumphs 
of  German  methods  would  mean  for  the  world.  Here,  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  luxury  and  waste,  I  've  come  to  envy 
loss  and  sacrifice.  If  we  in  America  don't  get  our  share 
of  it,  I  don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  us."  And  then, 
from  the  passionate  patriot,  that  passing  mock  at  "  Amer 
ica,  from  a  safe  distance,  distributing  victuals  and  justice 
to  people  giving  up  their  lives." 

Looking  back,  after  all  the  turmoil  and  tragedy  had 
gone  by,  Napier  realized,  as  clearly  as  though  he  had 
been  an  eye-witness,  the  despair  that  fell  on  Julian  when 
he  heard  from  her  own  lips  that  Nan  was  "  against  what 
Germany  stands  for.  I  want  my  country  to  be  against  it," 
she  wrote  Napier,  "  and  there  seems  to  be  only  one  way. 
It  isn't,  not  yet,  the  way  of  peace.  Well,  there  it  is.  I 
have  failed  Julian  in  the  work  he  cares  more  about  than 


336  THE  MESSENGEE 

anything  in  the  world.  I  say  to  myself,  I  won't  fail  him 
in  other  ways  if  I  can  help  it.  What  do  you  say,  Gavan  ?  " 

Before  there  was  time  to  "  say/'  Napier  had  received  his 
two  wounds,  a  shell-shattered  foot  and  a  damaged  right 
wrist.  He  was  sent  home,  and  for  six-and-thirty  days  lay 
chafing  in  a  London  hospital.  The  time  hung  horribly. 
Most  of  Napier's  friends  were  in  active  service  or  dead ; 
the  rest  were  swamped  in  work.  He  'd  have  gone  out  of 
his  mind,  he  said  afterward,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Tommy 
Durrant.  Tommy,  with  his  eye-glass  and  his  pre-war  ele 
gance  unimpaired,  his  alertness  and  sound  sense  increased 
by  new  responsibilities,  was  still  behind  the  old  scenes  and 
in  and  out  of  the  new  as  well.  He  had  been  "  lent "  to  the 
Admiralty  Intelligence  Department.  Tommy  was  full  of 
the  increasing  difficulty  in  Anglo-American  relations. 
One  day  he  came  in  full  of  "  a  scheme  we  've  just  put 
through  " —  a  scheme  talked  of  with  a  careless  air,  but  in 
a  voice  carefully  modulated. 

"  That  woman  on  the  other  side  who  used  to  be  at  the 
Mclntyres' —  came  back  as  a  Belgian  nun  after  we  'd  de 
ported  her,  you  know  —  well,  your  friend  in  New  York, 
Taylor,  has  traced  a  beastly  lot  of  trouble  to  her  and  her 
gang.  For  months  Taylor's  kept  telling  our  people  over 
here  it  was  childish  to  go  straining  every  nerve  to  keep  the 
American  balance  from  tipping  the  wrong  way,  pouring 
out  money,  losing  prestige,  above  all,  losing  time,  while 
we  leave  people  like  Schwarzenberg  and  her  nest  of  adders 
to  breed  their  poison  — " 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  Napier  interrupted,  hopeless  of  the 
answer. 


THE  MESSENGER  337 

"  Get  her  out  of  that." 

"Out  of  America?" 

Tommy  nodded  with  such  vigor  his  eye-glass  fell  out. 

"  I  admit  it  '11  be  damned  difficult,  but  Singleton,"  he 
said,  replacing  the  monocle  firmly  once  more  — "  Singleton 
thinks  he  's  found  the  way."  Then,  in  the  deepest  confi 
dence,  Tommy  told  Napier  about  an  ex-German  spy,  one 
Ernst  Pforzheim,  who  'd  had  relations  with  the  Schwarzen- 
berg  woman.  "  He  'd  done  a  lot  of  useful  work  in  America 
as  well  as  here,  but  Singleton  had  got  our  people  to  tell 
him  they  were  n't  satisfied.  There  was  really  only  one 
thing  they  wanted  of  Pforzheim,  and  he  hadn't  done  it. 
He  'd  already  told  the  chief  there  were  special  reasons  why 
he,  Pforzheim,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  should  n't  touch 
this  Schwarzenberg  business.  The  chief  couldn't  see  it. 

"  '  But  I  'm  dead!  "  wails  Pforzheim. 

" '  You  've  got  to  come  alive,'  the  chief  grinned.  But 
you  never  in  your  life  saw  a  man  as  depressed  as  that 
German  when  he  heard  he  was  somehow  or  other  to  find  a 
way  to  rid  us  of  Schwarzenberg. 

" ''  To  rid  you  of  her  ? '  he  says,  his  eyes  bulging.  '  She 's 
a  deal  more  likely  to  rid  you  of  me.' 

"  The  chief  looked  as  if  he  could  bear  that,  but  he  said 
all  he  insisted  on  was  that  she  should  be  got  out  of  America. 
No  power  under  heaven,  Pforzheim  told  him,  would  tempt 
Schwarzenberg  to  leave  America. 

" '  You  set  me  an  impossible  task ! '  he  wept. 

"  '  It 's  the  condition,'  says  the  chief. 

"'It's  my  death-sentence,'  says  Pforzheim.  That  was 
how  he  went  off." 


338  THE  MESSENGER 

For  the  next  three  weeks,  whenever  Tommy  appeared, 
Napier  would  ask,  as  though  Ernst  Pforzheim,  too,  were  in 
hospital,  how  that  person  was  "  getting  on." 

Though  Tommy  was  forever  full  of  other  news,  all  that 
he  was  able  to  produce  relating  to  the  luckless  Ernst  was 
that  he  'd  disappeared. 

Napier  had  n't  succeeded  in  getting  his  letters  forwarded 
from  France  in  those  terrible  days.  After  four  weeks  in 
hospital  he  cabled  Julian  what  had  happened  and  that  he 
was  getting  on  all  right.  A  fortnight  later,  the  day  of 
Napier's  discharge,  came  a  telegram  from  New  York. 

Returning  with  Nan  to-morrow.     8.  S.   Leyden.        JULIAN. 

Not  altogether  by  the  ways  that  would  have  seemed  most 
direct,  not  solely  through  the  principals  concerned,  did 
Napier  come  by  his  most  intimate  knowledge  of  what  hap 
pened  on  that  voyage,  which  was  for  many  to  be  the  last. 
From  his  long  familiarity  with  the  way  Julian  "  took 
things  " ;  from  f amiliarity,  not  long,  but  lit  by  the  lamp 
of  passion,  with  the  natural  turns  and  reactions  of  Nan 
Ellis,  Napier  filled  in  the  outlines  of  the  widely  published 
and  privately  rehearsed  story,  until  to  him,  the  lover  on 
shore,  the  experiences  of  that  voyage  wore  an  actuality  de 
nied  to  many  of  those  who  in  their  own  persons  lived  out 
the  awful  hours.  As  it  accumulated,  this  knowledge  of 
Napier's  came  to  be  of  that  completer  type  that  some  of 
us  cherish  concerning  matters  in  which  our  sharing  has 
been  of  the  kind  invisible.  We  were  not  "  there  "  in  any 
ordinary  sense.  Yet  indubitably  we  are  more  intensely 
there,  in  that  we  are  not  blinded  by  panic  or  numbed  by 


THE  MESSENGER  339 

the  mental  or  the  bodily  blow.  "We,  aloof  in  the  conning- 
towers  of  love,  are  spared  no  sight,  no  pang.  We  look 
down  with  every  natural  sense  sharpened;  with  some  per 
ceptions,  called  as  yet  supernatural,  giving  voices  to  the 
silence  and  to  the  darkness  vision.  But  apart  from  these 
less  generally  recognized  avenues  of  information,  there 
were  the  great  outstanding  facts  which  filled  the  papers  of 
two  hemispheres. 

The  first  six  days  of  the  Leydens  voyage  were,  from  the 
steamship  company's  point  of  view,  wholly  uneventful. 
Mr.  Julian  Grant  had  come  on  board  obviously  far  from 
well.  The  reporters  who  interviewed  him  just  before  he 
sailed  remarked  upon  the  fact.  Hallett  Newcomb,  a  mid 
dle-aged  Englishman  of  letters,  returning  home  upon  con 
clusion  of  an  extended  lecture  tour,  who  had  some  pre-war 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Grant  and  yet  more  with  Gavan 
Napier,  had  been  struck  at  once  by  the  change.  Julian 
Grant's  litheness  had  become  fragility,  almost  emaciation. 
He  walked  with  the  old  briskness,  but  as  under  a  load. 
Those  little  lines  slanting  away  from  each  side  of  the 
mustache  should  have  taken  the  antique  pencil  another  ten 
years  to  grave.  Grant  hadn't  yet  given  his  life  in  the 
Great  War,  but  of  a  surety  he  had  given  his  youth.  It 
was  gone  forever.  In  those  bright  Indian-summer  days 
that  followed  he  would  lie  bundled  up  in  his  deck-chair 
while  hour  after  hour,  in  that  low,  comforting  voice,  the 
girl  who  was  his  traveling  companion  read  to  him.  The 
passengers  commented  on  a  supposed  likeness  between  the 
two,  though  there  was  little  in  it  beyond  a  common  deli 
cacy  of  feature  and  identity  of  coloring.  People  on  the 
Leyden,  according  to  Newcomb,  took  the  pair  at  first  for 


340  THE  MESSENGER 

brother  and  sister.  Anyway,  she  treated  him  like  a 
brother,  a  younger  brother  who  was  to  be  soothed  and 
cared  for. 

The  matter  in  those  books  and  papers  that  Mr.  Grant 
seemed  never  to  have  enough  of  was  not  such  stuff  as  would 
have  soothed  the  British  censor.  However,  it  stirred  to 
enthusiasm  the  frequent  visitor  to  that  sheltered  nook  on 
the  deck  —  Miss  Genevieve  Sherman,  as  the  forged  pass 
port  gave  out  Miss  Ellis's  fascinating  black-haired  friend. 
To  the  fact  that  Miss  Ellis  did  n't  seem  to  know  the  lady 
was  her  friend,  Mr.  Hallett  Newcomb  was  an  unwilling 
witness.  He  had  chanced  to  see  the  younger  woman  mak 
ing  her  escape  from  the  other  on  deck,  only  to  be  trapped 
in  the  cul-de-sac  corridor  at  the  bottom  of  which  was  New- 
comb's  cabin.  Behind  the  half-hooked-back  door  he  was 
looking  through  his  papers  for  a  registered  cable  address. 
The  tete-a-tete  outside  began  so  quietly  that  he  had  for 
those  first  moments  no  sense  of  hearing  anything  private. 

"  So  you  did  n't  expect  to  see  me,"  said  Miss  Genevieve 
Sherman  whom  the  girl  called  Greta. 

"  How  in  the  world  could  I  expect  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  not !  For  the  reason  that  sends  my  heart  into  my 
mouth  when  I  realize  only  a  little  of" — the  girl's  voice 
hesitated  — "  of  what  you  must  know  far  more.  The  risk, 
Greta,  the  awful  risk !  " 

"  It 's  dear  of  you  " —  the  heavier  voice  was  caressing  — 
"dear  of  you  to  keep  thinking  of  that.  And  you're  a 
clever  child  to  have  spotted  me  at  once." 

"  Clever  ?  I  've  seen  you  as  so  many  people  by  now,  I 
think  I  've  got  down  at  last  to  the  things  you  can't  change." 


THE  MESSENGEK  341 

The  weight  of  sadness  in  the  words  brought  out  one  of  the 
woman's  challenging  laughs. 

"  I  gather  that  what  you  think  the  essential  me  does  n't 
make  you  very  gay,  dear  child." 

The  dear  child  said  nothing. 

"  You  should  n't  be  surprised  to  see  me  here,  running 
some  risk  it 's  useless  to  deny ;  but  after  the  way  we  parted, 
what  else  could  you  expect  ?  " 

"  Greta,  you  have  n't  come  because  of  —  not  really  be 
cause  of  me  ?  " 

"  You  've  never  realized,"  said  the  appealing  voice,  "  what 
you  were  to  me." 

There  was  a  longer  pause  and  then,  half  choked,  two 
little  sentences  fell  out:  "  It  all  seems  no  good  any  more. 
I  shall  never  feel  the  same." 

"  Not  the  same,  perhaps.  You  may  feel  something  bet 
ter,  closer.  Anyhow,  I  couldn't  let  you  go  away,  to  the 
other  side  of  the  world  without  —  Why,  Nan  you  did  n't 
even  answer  my  letters !  " 

"  I  could  n't." 

"Couldn't?" 

"  There  was  n't  any  more  to-  say." 

"  That 's  where  you  're  wrong.  There  is  more  to  say. 
And  that 's  one  reason  why  I  'm  here  — " 

Newcomb  slammed  down  the  top  of  his  portmanteau  and 
rattled  his  keys. 

Any  ill  success  she  may  have  had  with  the  girl  did  not 
prevent  Miss  Greta  from  seizing  every  opportunity  to  work 
on  the  sympathies  of  the  gentleman,  above  all,  to  ally  her 
self  with  his  international  ideals.  "You  and  I"  was  a 
phrase  which  Newcomb  often  caught  as  he  strolled  by; 


342  THE  MESSENGER 

"from  our  point  of  view,"  was  another.  One  of  the  im 
pressions  that  was  to  remain  longest,  because  so  often  re 
newed  during  the  week  at  sea,  was  the  group  of  which 
Grant  remained  the  center;  he  lying  spent,  in  his  chair; 
Miss  Ellis  in  another,  finger  in  book  and  eyes  lowered; 
while  on  the  other  side  of  him  sat  Miss  Greta,  suave, 
smiling,  talking  to  Mr.  Grant,  but  turning  ingratiatingly 
every  now  and  then  to  the  girl,  only  to  be  met  by  that 
refusal  of  the  eyes  even  more  marked  than  the  blankness 
of  her  silence. 

Miss  Greta  did  not  continue  to  take  this  irresponsive- 
ness  well.  Behind  the  continued  and  tireless  effort  her 
mood  hardened,  her  resentment  grew. 

Newcomb  could  see  that  much,  though  she  pretended 
with  some  success  to  make  up  for  any  disappointment,  and 
more  than  make  up,  by  turning  the  head  of  a  lanky  Ameri 
can  youth. 

The  source  of  Mr.  Craig  Ashmole's  attraction  baffled 
Xewcomb  till  he  found  out  the  young  man's  business: 
Mr.  Ashmole  was  on  his  way  to  England  to  fill  a  telegraphy 
post.  Two  days  out  from  New  York  one  of  the  Leyden's 
wireless  operators  had  taken  to  his  bed;  Mr.  Ashmole  was 
now  installed  as  deputy  assistant.  The  carroty  and  my 
opic  youth  was  not  above  twenty-three  and  very  keen  about 
his  job.  He  knew  it  well  in  its  scientific,  if  not  in  its 
political,  aspect;  and  he  knew  women  not  at  all.  Miss 
Greta's  amused  effort  to  fill  up  this  hiatus  in  his  education 
afforded  no  less  amusement  to  certain  lookers-on  at  the 
little  comedy,  as  they  thought  it. 

This  was  not  the  view  of  the  one  or  two  who  knew  the 
persistent  fight  made  by  the  lady,  that  first  day  out,  for 


THE  MESSENGER  343 

the  privilege  of  receiving  wireless  messages.  Under  the 
new  rale  no  one  had  access  to  outside  news  except  specially 
privileged  official  persons.  It  was  doubtful  if  the  rule  held 
good  after  Miss  Greta  had  publicly  flouted  more  personable 
men  in  favor  of  the  deputy-assistant  operator.  At  care 
fully  chosen  times  and,  for  the  most  part,  in  out-of-the- 
way  corners  she  flirted  outrageously  with  the  absurd  Ash- 
mole.  She  dazed  him,  she  dazzled  him,  she  rattled  him, 
she  pumped  him.  She  raised  him  to  heaven,  she  reduced 
him  to  despair.  She  comforted  him  till  he  saw  stars  on 
the  blackest  night. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  they  had  been  six  days  at  sea. 
But  for  the  fact  that  the  captain  had  gone  ninety  miles  out 
of  his  course  for  some  good  reason  of  his  own,  they  might, 
before  the  light  of  that  day  failed,  have  been  sighting  the 
round  towers  on  the  Irish  coast. 

The  usual  restlessness  of  the  last  hours  of  a  voyage, 
when  people  alternately  pack  and  write  letters,  or  pack 
and  feverishly  cement  new  friendships  and  pack,  was  aug 
mented  by  the  fact  of  each  passenger  finding  in  his  cabin 
late  that  afternoon  a  card  on  which  appeared  the  sinister 
legend,  "  In  case  of  need  your  boat  is  — "  and  a  number 
followed.  The  very  calmness  of  the  information,  its  man 
ner  of  conveyance,  increased  the  eeriness  of  the  warning. 

Was  it  the  lifeboat-card  which  those  two,  Grant  and  Miss 
Ellis,  were  discussing  with  that  absorbed  intensity? 

When  JSTewcomb  had  finished  his  four  miles  with  the 
second  officer  and  the  congressman  from  Vermont,  he 
came  to  a  stop  by  Grant's  corner  in  time  to  hear  the  girl 
break  into  the  middle  of  something  he  was  saying  and  urge 


344  THE  MESSENGER 

Grant  to  go  below.  He  was  to  try  to  sleep  off  his  Head 
ache  ;  anyway,  "  make  up  a  little  for  loss  of  rest  before  — 
before  — "  she  stumbled  and  looked  away  an  instant.  A 
world  of  trouble  was  in  the  face  she  turned  again  to  watch 
the  slight  figure  go  swaying  down  the  deck  and  catch  at 
the  jamb  of  the  door  to  steady  himself  an  instant  before 
he  disappeared  into  the  companionway.  He  had  left  a 
book  open  on  his  rug.  On  the  deck,  all  around  his  chair, 
lay  the  modern  exemplars  of  that  literature  of  peace  which 
seems,  like  the  old,  to  bring  the  sword. 

Newcomb's  eye  roved  once  again  over  titles  in  English 
and  German,  and  from  the  scattered  incrimination  he 
looked  at  the  face  of  the  girl. 

"  I  seem  to  have  noticed  that  these  sentiments  don't  stir 
you  to  much  enthusiasm." 

"  They  are  worthy  of  enthusiasm,"  she  answered,  as 
though  parrying  an  attack  on  Julian  behind  his  back. 

"  Why  do  you  make  phrases  ?  "  Newcomb  demanded. 

"  I  don't."  Whether  her  quickened  look  sprang  from  a 
pricked  conscience  Newcomb  could  n't  be  sure.  "  Well, 
are  n't  they  full " —  her  eyes  swept  the  litter  of  books 
and  papers — "full  of  fine  and  splendid  things?  You 
know  they  are.  Only  — " 

"  Only  ?  " 

She  drew  herself  up,  and  the  tight-pressed  lips  parted  to 
say :  "  However  much  we  believe  them,  if  the  house  was 
on  fire,  we  could  n't  think  about  these  things.  The  house 
is  on  fire.  I  can't  think  about  —  anything  except  saving 
the  house  and  the  people  who  are  being  burnt." 

"  Does  n't  Mr.  Grant  tell  you  that  those  are  exactly  his 
aims  — '  to  save  the  house '  and  '  to  save  the  people  '  ?  " 


THE  MESSENGER  345 

"  Yes/'  she  owned  sadly ;  "  he  thinks  about  saving  every 
thing  except  himself."  She  stopped  abruptly,  frightened 
at  having  made  an  admission  which  may  have  implied 
much  or  little.  She  studied  Newcomb  a  moment  with  a 
gaze  that  made  him  long  to  say:  "Yes,  believe  in  me. 
Why  should  n't  you?" 

Whether  the  silent  monition  reached  her,  certainly  her 
next  words  showed  no  agitation,  rather,  a  queer,  poised 
sagacity. 

"  What  I  sit  here  thinking,"  she  went  on,  "  is  that  maybe 
a  stupid  fireman,  even  a  bad,  lying  fireman,  could  ( save 
the  house '  where  Julian  —  Julian  would  only  be  burnt  to 
death  with  the  rest." 

As  though  acting  on  sudden  impulse,  Newcomb  brought 
out  the  question  he  had  been  longing  to  put  all  these 
days. 

"  Do  you  mind  my  asking  you  why  are  you  leaving  home 
at  a  time  when  traveling  is,  to  say  the  least — "  In  the 
pause  he  said  to  himself:  She  won't  trust  me.  Why 
should  she  —  except  for  the  difference  it  had  seemed  to 
make  to  her  when  she  learned  that  he  was  a  friend  not 
only  of  Grant's,  but  of  Gavan  Napier's.  In  the  first  days 
they  had  talked  about  Napier. 

"  I  've  come,"  she  said  after  a  moment  — "  I  've  come 
because,  do  what  I  would,  I  could  n't  prevent  Mr.  Grant's 
coming." 

"I  see.  You  wouldn't  be  on  this  ship  if  Mr.  Grant 
were  n't." 

She  hesitated  again. 

"  You  can  see  how  ill  he  is,  and  his  coming  to  America 
and  getting  deeper  into  —  all  this,  holding  those  meetings 


346  THE  MESSENGER 

and  being  so  attacked  about  them  at  home,  that 's  my  do 
ing." 

"  Your  doing !  "  said  Newcomb,  giving  astonishment  the 
rein. 

"  Yes.  If  I  had  n't  written  to  him  —  the  things  I  did 
write,  he  would  n't  have  come  to  America." 

"What  things?" 

"  I  can't  tell  anybody  that.  But  it 's  because  I  did  n't  do 
something  I  'd  promised,  that 's  why  Julian  's  here.  Since 
there  are  things  I  can't  do,  it 's  my  business  to  do  what  I 
can."  Very  wisely  Newcomb  sat  silent ;  she,  too,  as  long  as 
she  could  bear  it.  "  I  've  told  you  this, —  you  see  how 
private  it  is, —  but  I  've  told  you  because  — "  Her  voice 
clouded.  She  turned  away  her  head. 

"  Is  n't  it  because  you  realize  that  I  'd  like  to  be  of  some 
use  if  I  could  ?  " 

"  Would  you  —  could  you  help  about  him  —  about  Mr. 
Grant?" 

Newcomb's  moment  of  silence  unnerved  her. 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  we  all  tried  to  keep  him  in 
America ! " 

"  Would  n't  he  have  stayed,"  Newcomb  dared  to  ask,  "  if 
you  had  stayed  ?  " 

"No!  no!  Oh,  you  don't  understand  Julian.  He  has 
a  duty  —  to  the  other  men  at  home  and  to  the  country. 
He  thinks  he  can  help ;  you  've  heard  him.  '  While  some 
men,  who  see  it  that  way,  are  fighting  for  liberty  abroad, 
it's  laid  on  others  to  fight  for  liberty  at  home.'  I  could 
almost  be  glad  he  is  so  ill  if  only  we  had  landed  and  I 
could  get  him  home  to  Scotland !  I  did  n't  know  whether 
you  might,  perhaps,  be  willing  to  help  me  to  do  that." 


THE  MESSENGER  347 

"Willing?  I  would  indeed  be  willing.  The  question 
is :  my  power,  anybody's  power." 

She  bent  forward,  but  the  breath  that  should  have  gone 
in  words  she  held  an  instant.  And  then  very  low  the 
syllables  fell  out :  "  "What  will  they  do  —  when  we  land  ?  " 

"What  wiU  they  do?" 

"  Yes,  to  Julian." 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  have  n't  the  least  idea  ?  Well,  Julian  has.  He  'a 
been  telling  me,  preparing  me  this  afternoon." 

"  What  has  he  been  telling  you  ?  " 

"  That  —  these  —  these  are  his  last  hours  as  a  free 
man."  She  dropped  the  ghost  of  a  sob  into  the  silence,  and 
her  head  went  down  into  her  hands.  It  was  only  for  a 
second.  She  sat  erect  again.  "  What  he  's  been  saying  in 
America  is  enough,  he  thinks.  Do  you  think  that's 
enough  to  put  a  very  noble  person  in  prison  in  free  Eng 
land?" 

Newcomb  hadn't  often  wanted  more  to  do  anything 
than  he  wanted  now  to  reassure  her.  It  should  be  ac 
counted  to  him  for  righteousness  that  he  said :  "  I  don't 
know." 


CHAPTEE  XXV  . 

AT  dinner  that  last  night,  the  place  of  the  wireless 
youth  was  vacant.  So  was  the  place  of  the  Dutch 
official  next  Lady  Neave,  whom  they  called  Lady  Gieve, 
because  during  the  first  days  she  had  worn  her  jacket  of 
that  name,  deflated,  but  evident,  all  day  and,  according 
to  report,  all  night.  Half-way  across  the  Atlantic  she 
had  been  smiled  out  of  her  fears  to  the  extent  of  carrying 
the  life-preserver  over  her  arm. 

Miss  Ellis  was  the  only  person  who  took  no  part  in  dis 
cussing  the  rumor  which  ran  about  the  ship  of  a  wireless 
message  said  to  have  been  received  by  the  Dutch  official. 
His  bedroom  steward,  also  Dutch,  had  seen  the  message  — 
"  A  great  battle  and  a  German  defeat." 

The  news  accounted  beyond  doubt  for  the  increased 
noisiness  in  the  dining  saloon.  From  the  table  behind 
Newcomb  rose  excited  acG€tots,  "  Es  ist  unglaublich  !  " 

Newcomb  turned,  and  caught  Miss  Ellis's  eye.  He  had 
changed  his  place  to  the  empty  one  beside  her  after  hearing 
that  Mr.  Grant  was  n't  coming  down  — "  a  headache." 

"  The  wireleless  leakage  seems  to  have  let  loose  a  fair 
amount  of  furor  Teutonicus"  he  said. 

She  nodded;  plainly  she  had  heard  the  news.  But  she 
did  n't  want  to  discuss  it  at  a  board  where  old  Professor 
Mohrenheim  and  his  gentle,  kindly  wife  occupied  their 

348 


THE  MESSENGER  349 

places,  as  polite  as  ever,  but  restrained  and  preoccupied  to 
night.,  Voices  from  the  all-German  table  rose  louder. 

It  was  known  that  on  the  last  voyage  excitement  over 
some  war  news,  published  in  the  customary  small  weekly, 
had  led  to  a  riot.  Certain  offended  patriots,  among  both 
Germans  and  their  opponents,  had  been  brought  to  port 
in  irons.  This  was  the  first  crossing  during  which  no 
newspaper  had  been  issued,  and  no  wireless  telegrams  had 
appeared  on  the  notice-board.  The  wisdom  of  these  meas 
ures  was  abundantly  proved.  The  mere  breath  of  rumor 
had  transformed  the  ship's  company.  Allies  put  their 
heads  together  and  exulted.  Neutrals  argued  more  or  less 
openly,  betraying  in  every  word  the  impossibility  of  neu 
trality.  The  old  German  couple  at  the  end  of  Nan's  table 
sat  marooned.  They  glanced  now  and  then,  wistfully,  at 
the  all-German  table  next  them.  The  sound  of  their 
tongue  rumbled  and  clashed  above  the  jar  of  crockery  and 
service  metal. 

"  Is  n't  it  strange," —  Nan  leaned  to  Newcomb  as  she 
lowered  her  voice, — "  when  I  used  to  hear  German,  T  'd 
think  about  music  and  poetry  and  beautiful  words  like 
Waldesduft  —" 

"  And  what  do  you  think  about  now  —  words  like  Bel 
gium  ?  " 

"That  isn't  fair,"  she  said  quietly.  "All  war  is  aw 
ful." 

"  But  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  do  think  about,  then, 
instead  of  music  and  Waldesduft." 

"  No." 

He  urged  her.     "  Please !  " 

"  I  could  n't,  not  at  the  same  table  where  that  dear  old 


350  THE  MESSENGER 

couple  sit,"  she  said  quickly  and  glanced  down  the  long 
table  at  the  Mohrenheims. 

"Tell  me  up-stairs?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  even  up-stairs.  If,  as  I  believe, 
the  worst  stories  are  n't  true,  it 's  wrong  to  repeat  them." 

"  Why  is  it  wrong  to  tell  me  and  let  me  judge  if  I  am  to 
believe  ?  " 

But  she  would  n't.  "  To  repeat  them  gives  them  a  false 
trueness,"  she  said  in  that  careful  undertone.  "  Oh,  I 
can't  explain;  but  just  to  put  them  into  words  seems  to 
spread  a  poison." 

"  You  can't  trust  me  to  distinguish,  to  help  you  to  dis 
tinguish  ?  " 

Again  she  shook  her  head.  "  What  I  have  to  think  is, 
if  some  people,  mistaken  people,  believed  such  things  about 
us  Americans,  what  would  I  say  if  I  were  asked  whether 
I  thought  it  a  good  thing  that  the  false  stories  against  us 
should  be  repeated?  To  make  horrible  pictures  in  peo 
ple's  brains ;  and,  if  the  brains  are  weak,  to  turn  them." 

"  I  am  sorry  my  brains  inspire  you  with  such  distrust." 

"  Perhaps  it 's  my  own  I  'm  shaky  about.  But  I  don't 
believe  any  brain  can  keep  steady  under  some  stories.  No ; 
must  n't  think  about  them." 

"  She  gets  that  from  Grant,"  Newcomb  decided.  He 
looked  across  the  table.  Next  the  captain's  empty  place, 
sat  the  only  person  in  the  saloon  unmoved,  you  would  say, 
by  the  news  —  a  British  naval  officer,  grave,  monosyllabic, 
and  showing  just  that  same  face  throughout  the  voyage. 
Not  so  much  as  a  hint  about  his  errand  to  the  States  and 
little  enough  about  anything  else.  Until  the  fourth  night 


THE  MESSEXGEK  351 

out  he  had  slept  or  dozed  over  a  book.  The  only  five  min 
utes  during  which  he  had  appeared  really  awake  had  been 
when  some  one  in  the  smoking-room  repeated  Julian 
Grant's  asseveration  that  the  German  atrocity  stories  were 
"  faked."  "  Every  nation  tells  of  its  enemy.  Only  the 
ignorant  and  unthinking  are  taken  in/' 

It  was  then  that  the  officer  dozing  in  the  corner  lifted 
that  face  of  his,  with  its  hard,  fine  outline  like  a  profile 
on  an  old  coin,  and  came  to  life.  The  indifference  cleared 
out  of  his  eyes  as  low-hung,  slumbering  smoke  will  clear 
before  the  blast. 

"  If  to  be  taken  in  by  '  faked '  stories  was  all  that  the 
innocent  had  to  fear ! "  In  cold  accents  he  told  about  a 
Belgian  girl.  Daughter  of  an  officer  in  the  Belgian  Army, 
a  man  he  knew.  When  the  Germans  took  Antwerp  she 
was  carried  off.  Fell  into  the  hands  of  a  U-boat  captain. 
When  he  'd  done  with  her,  handed  her  over  to  his  crew. 
She  did  n't  die  quickly  enough.  They  threw  her  over 
board.  "  An  officer's  daughter ! "  he  repeated,  as  though 
that  were  the  culminating  point  of  the  horror. 

Some  one  repeated  the  story  to  Julian.  His  anger  was 
a  thing  no  one  would  forget.  Believe  it?  Such  stories 
were  told  for  a  purpose.  It  was  "  the  kind  of  poison  that 
infects  people's  wits  and  loses  them  their  souls.  Makes 
brute  beasts  out  of  humans.  There  are  minds  that  batten 
on  such  lies.  They  get  decent  people  to  listen  in  the 
fevered,  abnormal  state  all  nerves  are  in  nowadays.  Foul 
ness  that  would  be  choked  back  down  their  obscene  throats 
at  other  times,  it 's  listened  to  like  some  message  out  of 
Sinai  or  Olympus.  I  tell  you  the  German  U-boat  captains 
are  as  good  men  as  ever  the  hag  War  breeds.  They  must 


352  THE  MESSENGER 

be  men  of  character.  You  dare  n't  give  a  job  like  that  to 
a  drunken,  rotten  roue." 

Here  was  Miss  Greta  at  last,  never  so  late  before  and 
never  so  resplendent.  Silver  sequins  and  black  lace  for 
that  last  night. 

"  I  'm  glad  "•  —  she  spoke  to  a  lady  across  the  table  — 
"  glad  to  see  you  've  emancipated  yourself." 

"  Emancipated  —  how  ?  "  Lady  Neave  asked. 

"  You  've  broken  the  tyranny  of  the  Gieve  jacket." 

"  Don't  tell  me  I  've  —  "  Lady  Neave  turned  to  look  at 
the  back  of  her  chair  — "  yes,  gone  and  forgotten  it !  " 
She  moved  outward  on  her  swiveled  seat. 

"  No !  no ! "  The  congressman  from  Vermont  pro 
tested  there  was  no  need  to  prepare  for  anything  so  gro 
tesque,  so  melodramatic,  as  a  cold-blooded  attempt  to  sink 
this  poor  old  tub. 

Miss  Greta  held  high  her  braid-crowned  head.  "  This 
innocent  old  tub,"  she  said,  "has  carried  thousands  of 
tons  of  ammunition ;  but,"  she  added  relentingly,  "  I  don't 
think  Lady  Gieve  —  oh,  forgive  me !  I  mean  Lady  Neave," 
she  bent  gracious  brows  upon  her  opposite  neighbor, — "  I 
quite  agree  you  won't  need  your  packet  on  this  voyage." 

JSTo  one  answered.  In  the  midst  of  a  general  animation, 
the  silence  that  reigned  again  around  Greta  spoke  loud. 
She  stared  about  her. 

"What  has  become  of  the.  hors  d'ceuvres?"  she  de 
manded.  The  Dutch  steward  could  not  have  helped  hear 
ing.  He  went  on  serving  the  others.  Again  she  spoke 
to  him,  more  sharply  still. 

"Alvays  it  ees  somet'ing !  From  de  fir-rst  you  come  on 
board,"  he  muttered  incoherently. 


THE  MESSENGEK  353 

She  turned  round  in  her  seat. 

"  What  ?     What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"Vhat  I  say?  You  need  not  be  down  on  rne  because 
Zhermany  is  beat." 

Miss  Greta  stared. 

"  Germany  beaten !     You  must  be  mad." 

The  steward's  face  had  grown  red ;  his  anger  was  mount 
ing  still. 

"  I  get  it  straight/'  he  said.  "  Dere  vas  a  great  battle. 
De  English  and  French  have  beat  de  Zhermans." 

"  It  is  a  lie !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  asked  the  calm  voice  of 
Newcomb  at  Greta's  side. 

"  How  does  one  know  anything  ?  You  would  n't  expect 
me  to  consider  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing  just  because  " 
—  her  contempt  followed  the  steward  for  those  first  yards 
of  his  progress  toward  the  side  table  — "  because  that  sort 
of  creature  says  so  ?  "  She  looked  round  for  understand 
ing.  Something  in  the  averted  eyes  of  the  company  net 
tled  her.  "  He  says  it,  armer  Wurm,"  she  went  on  with 
her  head  high,  "  from  the  same  motives  that  make  others 
long  to  believe  it.  Jealousy." 

"  Do  we  understand  you  to  say,"  Newcomb  asked,  "  that 
you  would  n't  believe  news,  however  authentic,  of  a  Ger 
man  defeat  ?  " 

"  There  could  n't  be  authentic  news  of  a  German  defeat. 
If  it  came  from  some  one  I  knew  and  trusted,  if  all  the 
people  I  know  and  trust  combined  to  say  there  had  been  a 
German  defeat,  I  should  know  they  were  wrong." 

While  she  waited  for  the  hors  d'ceuvres,  her  handsome 
shoulders  thrown  back,  her  chin  high,  she  pronounced  a 


354  THE  MESSENGER 

paean  to  Kultur  cum  militarism.  Newcomb  construed  it  as 
a  letting  off  pent-up  steam,  a  vent  for  anger  against  Miss 
Ellis  and  against  the  gathering  cloud  of  enemies.  But  it 
was  also  something  more.  It  had  in  it  an  element  of 
fanaticism,  mixed  with  balked  passion  for  force.  A  reck 
less  joy  in  the  doctrine  of  stick-at-nothing  to  serve  the 
end.  With  such  an  accent  we  have  heard  some  one  very 
old,  or  very  young  and  weak  saying,  "  We  bombed  them 
out  of  the  wood/'  or,  "  We  took  Hill  60."  It  is  a  singular 
thing  in  psychology  and  yet  to  be  explored,  this  passion  on 
the  part  of  the  physically  weaker  for  those  very  brute  forces 
in  the  universe  which,  but  for  their  oppositos,  would  be 
the  sure  undoing  of  all  but  the  physically  strongest,  and, 
in  the  end,  of  them  as  well. 

In  the  midst  of  her  hymn  to  pro-Teutonism,  Ashmole 
came  in,  looking  more  idiotic  than  usual,  staring  about  out 
of  his  big  glasses  as  though  he  could  n't  recognize  the 
table. 

"  Here  we  are,"  Miss  Greta  hailed  him. 

The  youth  paused  by  her  chair  an  instant  and  mumbled 
something  unintelligible,  his  eyes  goggling  as  they  swept 
the  saloon. 

"  They  told  me  the  captain  was  down  here." 

Greta  took  hold  of  Ashmole's  arm  and  tried  in  vain  to 
pull  him  into  the  vacant  place.  He  stood  there  lost  while 
she  whispered.  Suddenly  he"  bent  and  whispered  back. 
They  had  done  too  much  whispering  in  these  last  days  for 
that  to  strike  any  one  as  specially  strange.  What  struck 
Xewcomb  was  the  effect  on  Miss  Greta  of  whatever  it  was 
Ashmole  had  said. 


THE  MESSENGER  355 

On  the  face  that  had  met  with  brazen  defiance  the  news 
of  a  German  defeat,  was  stamped  something  more  than 
consternation.  Ashmole's  own  nerves  were  not  so  shaken, 
but  he  saw  that. 

"  It 's  all  right/'  he  said  in  the  act  of  turning  from  her ; 
"  they  won't  get  us.  The  lights  are  all  out." 

"  Lights  out,  you  say !  "     Greta  had  risen. 

"  Every  port  covered,"  Ashmole  muttered  over  his  shoul 
der. 

"  Fools !  They  must  put  the  lights  on.  Do  you  hear  ? 
Instantly!"  She  clutched  her  chair  back.  "  This  isn't 
the  boat  they  want  — " 

Nan  had  risen,  too.  But  that  was  because  she  saw  Julian 
at  the  door  of  the  saloon.  Without  a  word  he  held  up  his 
hand.  Equally  without  sound,  she  slipped  away  from  the 
table  and  went  toward  the  waiting  figure.  As  she  reached 
the  door,  a  dull  sound  came,  with  a  long  shuddering.  It 
passed  through  the  ship  from  end  to  end.  Instead  of  the 
echo  of  that  detonation  setting  the  whole  place  instantly 
in  motion,  it  had  the  effect  of  stilling  for  those  first  sec 
onds  such  motion  as  had  been.  Several  hundred  tongues 
ceased  wagging.  Forks  and  spoons  remained,  arrested, 
half-way  to  people's  mouths.  The  waiters  stood,  dish- 
covers  in  their  hands,  or  bottles  lifted  to  fill  glass.  The 
very  engines  slowed  to  listen. 

Even  after  the  general  movement  began  in  the  saloon, 
it  was  quiet  movement  and  curiously  undramatic;  no  cry 
ing  out,  no  mad  rush  for  the  deck. 

Some  people  looked  about  as  if  for  information.  Others 
tried  to  smile. 


356  THE  MESSENGEK 

"It's  come/'  said  the  congressman. 

"  What  —  what  has  come  ?  "  demanded  Lady  Weave 
through  the  rising  hum. 

Out  of  all  the  growing  murmur  and  movement  Newcomb 
heard  Greta's  tense  whisper :  "  That  —  a  torpedo  ?  " 

The  captain's  order  traveled  with  a  superhuman  quick 
ness: 

"  Life-belts  first !     Women  and  children  to  the  boats !  " 

"  Plenty  of  time  for  everybody  to  get  a  life-belt,"  was 
another  form  that  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Whether 
that  insistence  calmed  the  people,  certainly  it  was  a 
strangely  well-behaved  company  that  made  its  way,  in  spite 
of  the  ship's  increasing  list  to  starboard,  along  corridors 
and  up  companionways.  Scarcely  a  breach  in  the  general 
self-control  till,  on  the  lifeboat-deck,  parties  were  broken 
up,  and  all  men  told  to  stand  back.  Though  the  great 
majority  accepted  the  order  in  silence,  it  broke  the  courage 
of  some  among  the  women.  Certain  men  tried  persuasion. 
There  were  dumb  partings;  there  was  agonized  resistance. 
Two  or  three  evidently  meant  to  stand  out  to  the  bitter 
end  against  being  saved,  or  lost,  apart  from  their  men 
folk.  For  a  minute  the  morale  of  the  crowd  was  in  grave 
danger.  A  young  wife's  recurrent  sob :  "  I  can't !  I 
can't ! "  rose  to  wildness  with,  "  They  '11  have  to  kill  me 
first!" 

Newcomb,  looking  vainly  about  for  Nan  Ellis,  saw  a 
different  face.  Oh,  yes,  it  belonged  to  that  voice  he  had 
been  hearing  under  all  the  rest,  patient,  gentle,  tireless  — 
the  voice  saying  now  in  its  foreign-sounding  English  "  It 
is  for  your  husband's  safety  that  you  go  first."  More  than 


THE  MESSENGEK  357 

the  words,  the  motherly  kindness  on  the  blunt-featured 
face  of  the  old  German  lady,  prevailed  upon  the  distracted 
girl.  She  let  go  her  husband's  arm  and  clung  to  Mrs. 
Mohrenheim. 

Newcomb  saw  now  that  it  was  Mrs.  Mohrenheim  who 
was  helping  the  ship's  officers  to  marshal  and  send  forward 
the  women  and  children  to  those  who  had  charge  of  the 
boats.  It  looked  as  if  the  task  would  have  been  too  much 
for  the  officers  but  for  Mrs.  Mohrenheim.  An  extraor 
dinary  vigor,  an  exalted  persuasiveness,  had  transformed 
the  heavy  figure  and  the  homely  face.  Something  she 
had  given  no  hint  of  during  the  voyage  came  out  of  hiding 
and  "  took  charge." 

In  spite  of  the  increased  listing  of  the  ship,  through  all 
his  own  excitement  and  personal  fear,  which  Newcomb 
afterwards  confessed,  his  habit  of  mechanical  mental  regis 
try  kept  him  vividly  aware  of  what  went  on  within  his 
range. 

Already,  while  Mrs.  Mohrenheim  was  still  dealing  with 
that  first  and  most  unwilling  of  the  young  wives,  Newcomb 
had  seen  Miss  Greta  pass.  It  had  n't  taken  her  long  to  fling 
on  a  serge  skirt  and  her  fur-lined  ulster.  Above  the  life 
belt  fastened  round  her  bulky  figure  was  a  brown  canvas 
ruck-sack  hoisted  high  against  her  shoulder-blades.  She 
was  fastening  the  buckles  as  she  hastened  toward  her  ap 
pointed  boat,  put  a  little  out  of  her  stride  by  the  ever- 
stronger  list  to  starboard.  All  the  same,  Miss  Greta,  be 
yond  a  doubt,  would  be  among  the  first,  ISTewcomb  told 
himself  to  take  her  appointed  place,  and  hers  would  be 
the  first  boat  launched. 

"  You  will  carry  the  child  for  this  lady  ?  " 


358  THE  MESSENGER 

Mrs.  Mohrenheim  had  thrust  a  baby  into  Newcomb's 
arms. 

"  They  say  it 's  this  way  —  this  way !  "  The  baby's 
mother,  holding  a  little  boy  by  the  hand,  hurried  the  child 
and  Newcomb  up  the  deck.  The  barrier  of  officers,  stew 
ards,  and  crew  opened  to  let  them  through. 

Yes,  Miss  Greta  was  already  in  the  boat.  The  woman 
with  the  little  boy  was  helped  in,  and  Newcomb  handed 
over  the  baby.  The  men  at  the  pulleys  began  to  lower  the 
boat.  Miss  Greta  was  calmly  tying  a  motor-veil  round 
her  cap. 

Up  on  the  bridge  the  captain,  against  a  star-strewn 
sky,  calling  down  orders,  gave  an  impression  of  such 
tragic  and  awful  loneliness  that  ISTewcomb  was  aware  of  a 
relief  at  seeing  him  joined  by  another  figure.  The  two 
stood  speaking  while  you  might  count  seven  or  eight ;  then 
the  captain  pulled  off  his  coat  and  exchanged  with  the 
captain  of  the  watch.  The  captain  of  the  watch  came 
running  down,  putting  on  his  chief's  coat.  He  took  charge 
of  the  next  boat  that  was  being  lowered.  That  was  the 
boat  that  tilted  and  hung  for  some  seconds  over  the  water 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  The  angle  increased  to 
the  perpendicular,  and  the  boat  whirled  round,  dropping 
the  people  into  the  oily  water.  The  calm  night  air  struck 
icily  on  Newcomb's  sweat-beaded  forehead.  A  horror  of 
violent  death  had  pierced  the  numbness  that  followed  on 
his  first  panic.  On  the  way  back  to  the  diminishing 
crowd  of  women  he  peered  into  men's  faces. 

"  Do  they  realize  ?  "  he  kept  repeating  to  himself. 

"  Where  were  you  when  it  struck  us  ?  "  he  heard  some 
one  ask  an  officer. 


THE  MESSENGER  359 

*  Chart-room/'  was  the  curt  reply. 

Another  voice  as  Newcomb  passed  said :  "  Not  the  peri 
scope;  but  I  saw  the  shark-fin  wake  of  the  torpedo." 

Newcomb  walked  with  difficulty,  like  a  drunken  man ;  it 
was  this  damned  list.  The  most  violent  tossing  in  a  hur 
ricane  was  preferable.  You'd  have  the  plunging  dive 
and  recovery,  which  had  something  gallant  in  it,  almost 
playful,  like  a  giant  gamboling.  But  this  persistent  vio 
lation  of  equilibrium  got  on  a  man's  nerve. 

"  The  lights  have  gone  out  on  the  starboard  side,"  some 
one  said. 

Newcomb  pulled  out  his  watch.  Stopped!  He  held  it 
to  his  ear.  No,  it  was  going.  And  all  this  had  happened 
in  those  few  beggarly  moments! 

"  What 's  that  yelling  about  ?  "  he  asked  irritably  of  a 
couple  of  men  who,  half-doubled,  came  up  the  slant  by  the 
wireless-room  passage. 

"  Boat  on  the  other  side  —  smashed  like  an  egg-shell 
against  the  hull." 

People  were  drowning  on  both  sides  of  the  sinking  ship. 

"  It 's  often  safest  on  board,"  some  one  said. 

"  Yes ;  you  stick  to  the  ship." 

There  was  now  a  dense  crowd  of  men  round  the  com- 
panionway.  All  but  a  handful  of  women  had  been  dis 
tributed  to  the  boats,  but  the  handful  kept  on  being  re 
newed.  Newcomb  saw  why.  Grant  and  Miss  Ellis, 
among  others,  were  bringing  up  the  people  who  remained 
over,  in  the  second  and  third  class.  And  among  these 
huddled  groups  still  the  squat  figure  and  the  beautiful- 
ugly  face  of  old  Mrs.  Mohrenheim  moved,  consoling,  heart 
ening. 


360  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Yes,  he  will  come  after,"  she  said.  "  Surely  you  will 
think  about  your  children."  More  than  once  she  had 
taken  her  text  from  a  bystander's  face.  "  Look  at  him, 
poor  man !  He  can  save  himself  if  he  has  not  you  to 
think  about.  You  would  not  risk  his  life?  No,  no. 
Komm,  then,  Jcomm."  The  woman  was  passed  along. 

The  mere  getting  to  the  boats  was  a  trial  of  courage. 
Newcomb  himself  had"  no  love  of  the  horrible  chute  that 
now  pitched  sharply  down  to  that  dark,  oily  glitter  that 
was  the  sea,  but  he  offered  to  convoy  the  late-comers 
wherever  a  boat  might  be. 

"  No,  you  two."  Mrs.  Mohrenheim  summoned  Grant 
and  Nan  Ellis.  Slowly  they  made  their  way  forward  with 
the  little  group  of  clinging  children  and  bewildered 
women.  Some  crawled  on  hands  and  knees  up  the  steep 
acclivity  to  where  a  boat  swung  from  the  davits.  An  of 
ficer  passed  the  groups  without  stopping.  He  came  hur 
rying,  sliding,  half  squatting,  with  one  leg  stretched  slant 
ing  down,  the  other  crooked  up,  with  the  knee  turned 
sharply  out. 

"You,  now/'  he  said  to  Mrs.  Mohrenheim  as  he  rose 
to  his  full  height  beside  her. 

"  There  are  two  ladies  more."    She  pushed  them  forward. 

The  officer  steadied  them  as  they  passed,  and  turned 
again  to  Mrs.  Mohrenheim. 

"  You." 

"  There  are  those  by  the  door ;  one  is  young."  She 
turned  unsteadily. 

The  officer  clutched  her.  "  I  tell  you," —  Newcomb 
barely  caught  the  words  — "  it 's  now  or  never.  There 
aren't  boats  enough!" 


THE  MESSENGER  361 

"I  know/'  said  Mrs.  Mohrenheim. 

She  drew  back  and  stretched  out  a  hand  to  a  muffled 
figure  holding  to  a  stanchion  above  where  she  stood.  It 
was  Professor  Mohrenheim.  Newcomb  realized  now  that 
the  figure  had  been  there  from  the  first. 

"  We  have  been  together  for  forty  years,"  the  old  woman 
said.  "  Too  long  to  be  parted  now."  Her  husband  bent 
down  and  took  her  hand.  Now  he  had  drawn  her  up  be 
side  him. 

A  man  with  bare  feet  and  a  blanket  round  him  rushed 
on  deck  as  word  came,  blown  along  from  group  to  group, 
"  The  captain  says  every  one  for'ard,  and  each  for  him 
self." 

Down  by  the  bridge  they  were  launching  a  collapsible 
raft. 

The  last  Newcomb,  or  any  one,  saw  of  the  Mohrenheims, 
they  were  standing  together.  They  held  to  each  other  and 
to  the  stanchion. 

Grant  followed  the  girl  down  the  swinging  ladder  to  the 
raft. 

Some  one  was  crying: 

"  Get  away !  Pull  out !  For  God's  sake,  get  away !  " 
Another,  equally  unrecognizable  in  the  dimness,  called  out : 

"  She  's  going  down !     We  '11  be  drawn  in  !  " 

As  they  pushed  off,  they  saw  the  electric  lights  on  the 
Leyden  go  out  one  by  one. 

Of  the  people  on  the  raft  more  than  one  watched  the 
death-throes  of  the  ship  with  wet  eyes,  as  though  she  were 
something  sentient,  human.  Her  angle  of  subsidence  had 
changed  sharply.  The  bow  sank,  leaving  the  stern  nearly 


362  THE  MESSENGER 

upright.  Hef  mast  was  gone.  For  an  instant  her  funnel 
lay  along  the  water,  and  then  with  a  dull  roar  as  of  the 
engines  breaking  loose  and  crashing  down  to  the  bottom, 
the  rest  of  the  Leyden  sank  out  of  sight. 

The  end  of  the  great  ship  had  come  with  a  horrible  quiet 
ness,  in  contrast  to  the  cries  of  men  struggling  for  their 
lives  in  the  wash  among  the  wreckage. 

The  captain  had  gone  down  with  the  ship.  When  those 
in  charge  of  the  raft  heard  that  some  one  had  seen  him 
jump  clear,  they  sent  up  a  rocket.  By  that  addition  to 
the  starlight,  for  a  few  instants  a  single,  half-empty  life 
boat  could  be  seen  rocking  violently  on  the  swell.  Sev 
eral  men  were  clinging  to  the  gunwale.  As  raft  and  boat 
were  swept  nearer,  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  raft  raised 
a  shout.  He  had  recognized  the  captain  climbing  into 
the  boat,  and  hauling  up  after  him  the  limp  body  of  one 
of  his  companions. 

The  captain's  first  care,  when  he  came  alongside,  was 
to  relieve  the  congestion  on  the  raft.  He  ordered  the 
chief  engineer  to  transfer  eight  or  ten.  The  chief  engi 
neer  remembered  his  helpers.  Grant  and  Newcomb  were 
told  off.  Yes,  the  captain  said,  they  must  bring  the  only 
woman  into  the  lifeboat. 

When  the  transference  had  been  effected,  another  rocket 
was  sent  up  in  order  that  the  surviving  boats  might  come 
together. 

"  Look !  "     The  girl  grasped  Grant's  arm. 

The  captain,  too,  turned  his  head. 

"  By  God !  "  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  submarine  had  risen  and  stood  away  to  south 
ward.  So  intent  had  the  occupants  of  the  lifeboat 
been  to  discover  some  sign  of  their  companions  that  the 
discovery  of  themselves  by  the  submarine  flash  came  with 
a  shock  of  surprise.  In  the  light  of  that  pale  ray,  which 
had  picked  them  out  of  the  darkness,  they  saw  in  that  first 
moment  no  more  than  one  another's  faces  —  a  memory  to 
last  them  all  their  days. 

"  They  're  hailing  us,"  the  captain  said  with  bitter 
mouth. 

"  Who  is  hailing  us  ?  "  The  idea  of  rescue  was  still  in 
the  forefront  of  his  mind. 

"  Submarine." 

How  the  captain  knew,  Newcomb  had  no  idea.  But  cer 
tainly  the  insignificant,  low-pitched  shadow  —  obscure 
mother  of  the  light-ray  .  .  .  she  was  moving!  And  she 
was  moving  in  the  direction  of  the  Leyden's  grave. 

A  voice  came  from  her  at  last,  uttering  not  the  German 
they  thought  to  hear,  but  words  yet  more  unfamiliar. 

"  He  says,"  interrupted  the  Dutch  captain,  "  we  're  to 
come  'longside." 

"  Shall  we  ?  "  The  chief  engineer  still  could  conceive 
orders  as  coming  only  from  the  autocrat  of  the  ship  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea. 

"  No  choice."  The  captain's  voice  sank  lower  on  an 
363 


364  THE  MESSENGER 

oath.  He  leaned  forward,  and  conferred  with  the  men 
at  the  bow.  Newcomb  had  noticed  that  the  captain  still 
wore  the  coat  of  the  captain  of  the  watch,  and  he  saw  now 
that  when  the  grizzled  head  that  had  been  bent  in  con 
ference  with  the  engineer,  was  lifted,  it  wore  a  lands 
man's  cap  —  a  checked  deerstalker. 

Clearly  the  engineer  had  been  placed  in  command  of 
this  little  expedition  over  the  intervening  blackness  to 
learn  their  fate  —  a  blackness  that  seemed  to  open  to  the 
long  ray  of  the  flash-light.  To  the  unnautical  mind,  the 
shortened  ray  seemed  to  draw  the  lifeboat  in  and  in,  till 
the  conning-tower  stood  clear  to  the  straining  eye;  in  and 
in,  till  to  the  right  of  the  main  origin  of  light  dim  figures 
took  shape;  in  and  in,  till  just  before  the  oarsmen  had 
brought  the  lifeboat  alongside  the  shelving  body,  topped 
with  its  low  deck,  suddenly  the  light  ray  was  extinguished. 
Lifeboat  and  submarine  swung  an  instant  in  an  equal 
blackness.  Out  of  it  a  voice,  again  in  those  strange  ac 
cents.  No  answer  till  an  English  tongue  spoke  from  the 
lifeboat,  "We  can  understand  a  little  German." 

And  then,  just  as  eyes  were  beginning  to  grow  accus 
tomed  to  the  dark,  which,  after  all,  was  darkness  only  by 
comparison,  the  compact  figure  standing  out  011  the  con 
ning-tower  against  the  star-sown  sky  turned  on  the  light 
of  an  electric  torch  he  held  in  his  hand.  He  trailed  the 
sudden  radiance  along  the  lifeboat,  raking  her  fore  and 
aft.  The  light  lingered  an  instant  at  the  stern.  But  the 
question  he  asked  was :  "  Name  of  your  ship  ?  " 

He  was  told. 

"Dutch?" 

Holland-American,  she  was. 


THE  MESSENGER  365 

"Tonnage?" 

That  was  given,  too." 

"  Are  you  the  captain  ?  " 

"  No.     Chief  Engineer  Van  Zandt." 

An  order  was  issued  in  German,  and  the  interrogatory 
went  on : 

"  Where  is  the  captain  ?  " 

"  Hard  to  say,"  some  one  answered  gruffly. 

"  He  's  where  a  British  captain  can  usually  be  found," 
said  another. 

"  In  these  days  that  '  usually '  means  at  the  bottom," 
retorted  the  commander  of  the  submarine.  "  Have  you 
got  any  papers  ?  " 

"Papers?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Dummheit;  where  are  the  ship's  papers?" 

"  We  'd  better  ask  you,"  retorted  a  voice  at  the  stern. 

"  You  'd  better  keep  the  tongue  civil ! "  came  sharply 
back,  with  the  first  betrayal  of  flaw  in  the  perfect  English. 

Two  figures  coming  up  on  the  comiing-tower  brought 
with  them  the  diffused  light  of  some  open  hatchway  as  they 
took  their  stand  behind  the  commander.  He  showed 
clearly  now,  a  firm,  square-built  presence,  a  beardless  round 
face  above  the  muffler.  He  said  something  over  his  shoul 
der,  and  one  of  the  two  men  just  come  up,  stepped  briskly  to 
the  commander's  side.  During  those  few  seconds  it  seemed 
mere  chance  that  the  torch  still  lit  up  the  stern  of  the  life 
boat —  lit  the  small,  white  face  with  its  parted  lips  and 
shining  eyes,  a  face  so  destitute  of  fear,  so  charged  with 
sheer  burning  curiosity,  that  any  sane  person  might  be 
forgiven  for  staring  hard  at  what  could  only  be  a  crass 
incapacity  on  a  girl's  part  to  comprehend  the  situation. 


366  THE  MESSENGEK 

"  How  many  boats  did  you  launch  ? "  the  brusk  voice 
went  on  with  the  catechism. 

The  engineer  decided  to  say  eight. 

"  That  all  ?    Why  did  n't  you  launch  more  ?  " 

"  No  time." 

"  No  time !  That  shows  you  're  lying."  He  turned 
again  and  conferred  with  the  little  group  behind  him. 

"  Ja,  ja  —  auch  meine  Meinung."  He  wheeled  round. 
"All  right/'  he  called  out;  "shove  off!" 

Nobody  in  the  lifeboat  moved. 

Grant's  voice  was  heard  for  the  first  time  after  the  sec 
ond  of  stark  silence : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  people  in  this  boat  ?  " 

"  Finished  with  you.     Shove  off !  " 

That  loosed  tongues.  The  boat  was  full  of  angry  voices. 
Grant's  alone,  steady,  quiet,  but  heard  above  them  all,  said : 

"  It 's  a  mistake,  then  ?  —  Wait  a  moment !  " —  he  rose 
and  steadied  himself  in  the  gentle  swell  — "  I  say !  —  it 's 
a  mistake,  then,  that  we  're  a  hundred  miles  from  land  ?  " 

"  Not  much  mistake  about  that"  the  voice  came  back. 

"  Are  we  to  wait  while  you  overhaul  the  other  boats  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  wait  ?  " 

"  You  mean  to  round  the  others  up  and  give  us  a  tow  ?  " 

"Oh,  do  I?" 

Again  the  commander  repeated  that  action  of  his,  tilting 
the  torch  so  as  to  show  up  the  pale  oval  with  the  eager 
eyes. 

Newcomb  readily  owned  afterward  that  the  sharp  col 
lision  of  emotions  in  those  minutes  during  the  interview 
put  out  of  the  question  any  sober  thinking  or  coordination 
of  impressions.  All  that  came  later.  But  in  the  flux  of 


THE  MESSENGER  36? 

feeling  he  knew  even  at  the  time  that  his  peculiar  loathing 
of  the  man  was  n't  altogether  due  to  the  devilish  work  he 
had  finished,  or  fear  of  what  was  yet  to  come.  Even  in 
the  thick  of  shifting  dreads  and  hates  Newcomb  knew  that 
moment  by  moment,  ever  since  the  colloquy  began  in  the 
background  of  his  torn  mind,  a  consciousness  was  shaping 
which  told  him  that  this  man  would  have  cut  the  parting 
shorter  but  for  some  special  stimulation  of  his  contemptu 
ous  interest  in  the  lifeboat.  And  to  what  could  such  stimu 
lation  be  due  but  to  the  spectacle  (Newcomb  admitted  its 
crowning  strangeness)  of  the  way  in  which  one  person  in 
the  boat  was  taking  what  most  would  count  a  catastrophe 
to  shake  the  soul. 

Did  the  fact  of  the  absence  of  hatred  in  the  face  of  the 
only  woman  in  the  boat  account  for  the  something  which 
ISTewcomb  had  little  expected  to  find  in  a  German  TJ-boat 
captain  —  that  slight  tendency  to  attitudinize  in  the  midst 
of  his  grim  business,  to  assume  the  "  gallant  commander  " 
air,  as  no  man  does  in  exactly  the  same  way  for  his  fellow- 
men.  This  ghastly  suggestion  of  ftirtatiousness,  following 
hard  as  it  did  on  the  heels  of  murder,  and  making  its  ob 
scure  demand  over  the  very  grave  of  the  sunken  ship, 
stirred  Newcomb  to  a  pitch  of  fury  hardly  sane.  And  how 
the  thought  flashed  through  him  —  how  was  Grant  taking 
this  girl's  mockery  of  him,  mockery  of  all  her  protectors, 
of  decency  itself  ?  And  behold  Grant  was  "  taking  it  "— 
this  thing  done  on  the  floor  of  ocean  —  as  a  man  may 
whose  head  is  among  the  stars.  Poor  devil!  he  didn't 
even  see  it,  didn't  even  sense  what  the  commander's  in 
solent  use  of  the  torch  showed  in  that  circumscribed  field 
of  intense  light  —  the  girl's  eyes  still  wide  and  curious. 


368  THE  MESSENGER 

Instead  of  natural  loathing,  of  every  form  of  moral  con 
demnation,  she  was  staring  at  the  submarine  commander 
with  breathless  interest,  with  an  eagerness  that  might  flat 
ter  any  man  alive. 

Grant  had  made  his  way  down  the  lifeboat,  holding  to 
this  one's  shoulder,  steadying  himself  by  that  one's  arm, 
his  face  drawn  with  anxiety,  but  for  all  that  a  figure  of 
hope,  of  conciliation. 

"  I  say,"  he  called  out,  "  we  have  n't  got  any  provisions 
in  this  boat,  and  we  're  —  you  know  how  far  we  are  from 
land." 

"Bad  management,"  commented  the  German,  his  eyes 
slipping  past  Grant  again  to  the  face  at  the  stern. 

"  Even  if  it  is  bad  management,  you  're  not  going  to 
abandon  eighteen  fellow-beings  in  an  open  boat  in  mid- 
Atlantic,  not  civilians,  to  die  of  starvation  ?  " 

That  did  n't  seem  to  deserve  an  answer. 

"  Who  's  in  charge  of  your  boat  ?  "  was  the  curt  demand. 

Grant  hesitated. 

"  I  am,"  answered  Van  Zandt. 

"  Well,  don't  you  know  how  to  shove  off  when  you  're 
told  to  ?  " 

"  Stop  !  "  Julian  flung  up  an  arm.  "  It 's  an  impossible 
barbarity !  Look !  "  He  swung  round.  "  You  have  n't 
seen  —  there  's  a  lady  in  the  boat !  " 

"  Oh,  is  there  ?  "  The  flash  of  white  teeth  showed  in 
that  diffused  light  spreading  upward  from  the  hatch. 
"  The  lady  has  only  herself  to  blame." 

"  To  blame  ?     How  is  she  to  blame  ?  " 

"  She  disobeys  the  order." 

"  What  order  ?  "     Grant  could  n't  yet  see  he  had  nothin- 


;  I  have  a  cabin  below.     I  place  it  at  the  lady's  disposal " 


THE  MESSENGEB  369 

to  hope  from  the  man.  "  You  can't  abandon  us,"  he  hur 
ried  on,  "not  a  woman,  anyway,  to  the  torture  of  slow 
starvation." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  can."  The  captain's  hand  had 
gone  up  as  though  to  stroke  the  absent  mustache.  When 
the  hand  came  down,  it  showed  his  teeth  again  as  he  half 
turned  toward  the  men  behind  him. 

At  those  words,  "  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  can,"  the  reaction 
in  the  lifeboat  was  so  great  that,  with  the  snapping  of  the 
tention,  Grant  had  wavered  dizzily,  and  Nan  sprang  up 
with  a  cry  —  a  cry  that  Newcomb  took  for  relief  till  he  saw 
her  gesture  toward  Julian  Grant.  But  nearer  hands  laid 
hold  on  him  as  he  called  out  in  hoarse  triumph,  "  What 
did  I  tell  you  fellows !  "  and  fell  into  the  place  they  made 
for  him.  The  commander  turned  from  some  humorous  in 
terchange  with  his  officers. 

"  Yes,  it 's  a  fact,  I  can't  bring  myself  to  abandon  the 
•lady."  He  took  up  that  position  again  near  the  edge  of 
the  conning-tower.  With  heels  together  he  made  a  sharp 
inclination  from  the  hips.  "  I  have  a  cabin  below,  not 
luxurious,  but  more  comfortable  than  — "  he  broke  off  with 
a  curt  gesture.  "  I  place  it  at  the  lady's  disposal." 

On  the  lifeboat  for  those  first  seconds  a  silence  of  petri- 
fication  reigned.  On  the  submarine  sounded  voices  — 
voices  which  had  n't  been  heard  before.  For  one  sick  in 
stant  Newcomb  tried  to  fit  those  sounds  to  expostulation, 
to  revolt.  And  then  hope  died,  transfixed  by  laughter. 

But  the  commander  himself  was  grave,  almost  decorous. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  "  He  was  looking  straight  at 
the  girl.  "  You  must  make  up  your  mind  quickly.  I  've 
wasted  too  much  time  already." 


370  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Far  too  much/'  burst  from  a  man's  throat  down  below. 

"  Unless,"  the  German  went  on  calmly  — "  unless,  as 
seems  probable,  the  lady  has  n't  understood." 

No  wonder  that  he  so  interpreted  the  lady's  face,  for  in 
the  circumscribed  field  of  intense  light  her  eyes  showed 
wide  to  an  incredible  vision.  "  It  is  true  what  your  own 
people  have  told  you,"  he  went  on.  "  To  stay  where  you 
are  means  death." 

She  spoke  directly  to  him  for  the  first  time. 

"  And  these  —  these  others !  " 

"  The  fate  of  men  in  war,"  said  the  commander. 
"  There  is  no  need  for  you  to  share  it." 

Only  the  rushing  sound  of  the  water  for  a  breath's  in 
terval  till  she  gave  him  the  measure  of  her  incorrigible 
hope.  "  You  '11  save  the  others,  too !  " 

He  checked  his  impatient  gesture  to  demand:  "You 
think  they  won't  let  you  come  —  alone !  "  No  wonder  he 
persisted,  for  she  was  looking  at  him  still  with  that  ex 
cited  hopefulness,  though  dashed  now  with  bewilderment, 
her  brows  drawn  together  as  though  she  were  trying 
with  all  her  might  and  main,  in  spite  of  dazzle  and  glare, 
to  make  out  something  dim  and  far  and  inconceivably  pre 
cious  —  nothing  less  than  an  ultimate  fate  in  man. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  he  called  out,  "  nobody  shall 
prevent  you." 

"  Yes,  somebody  will !  "  Julian  shouted. 

Twice  fifteen  hands  were  ready  to  make  the  assurance 
good.  Four  of  them  were  laid  to  the  oars.  It  was  all  over 
while  you'd  count  half  a  dozen,  but  out  of  those  flying 
seconds  of  half-paralyzed  effort  Newcomb  kept  the  mem- 
^ry  of  a  lifeboat  that  seemed  to  share  the  mortal  agitations 


THE  MESSENGER  371 

of  her  crew ;  a  boat  that  for  an  instant  —  an  eternity  — 
swung  under  unequal  oar-strokes  in  an  oily  glitter  that 
swelled  up  black,  polished,  till  it  shut  out  the  horizon 
stars. 

As  though  no  man  had  stirred,  the  Leyden  captain  was 
roaring:  "What  are  you  about?  Shove  off!"  His 
voice  thickened  to  incoherent  cursing  even  before  a  couple 
of  boat-hook  heads  crashed  down  on  the  gunwale  and 
hauled  the  boat  sharply  back  against  the  body  of  the  sub 
marine. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  It  was  n't  lost  on  any  one  in  the  life 
boat  that  the  German's  free  hand  had  found  his  pistol  as 
he  added :  "  Is  n't  there  sense  enough  among  you  to 
know  you  're  helpless  ?  You  've  only  the  girl  to  thank  that 
I  don't  ram  you  to  hell."  A  word  over  his  shoulder  sent 
two  of  the  crew  down  through  that  faint  gush  of  light  to 
the  deck.  "  I  'm  sending  for  you." 

"Julian!"  After  the  guttural  male  voice,  the  high 
childish  cry  seemed  to  tear  the  quivering  night  in  two. 

Strangely  it  was  answered.  The  pacifist  Julian  turned 
and  flung  himself  upon  the  man  at  his  side.  He  seemed 
to  grapple  insanely  with  the  Leyden  captain,  till  some 
thing  in  his  keeping  was  torn  out  of  his  hand.  Over  their 
heads  a  shot  rang  out.  Two  sailors,  about  to  board  the 
lifeboat,  hesitated,  turned  and  vanished. 

Newcomb  was  for  the  moment  so  sure  it  was  the  U-boat 
commander  who  had  fired  that  his  next  impression  was 
of  a  thing  purely  fantastic ;  for  the  figure  up  there  against 
the  stars,  that  figure  inclined  in  a  mockery  of  courtesy  to 
Nan  Ellis,  jumped  to  attention;  held  the  attitude  rigidly 
an  instant,  and  then,  as  though  in  pride  of  pose  he  had 


372  THE  MESSENGER 

overreached  himself,  fell  back.  Men  sprang  to  catch  him 
and  darkness  closed  round  the  dropped  torch. 

Out  of  the  half-crazed  confusion  that  followed,  it  was 
hard  afterward  to  recall  anything  with  both  certainty  and 
distinctness  except  the  captain's  rough  order  to  Julian, 
"  Here,  give  it  back !  "  and  a  pistol  changed  hands.  New- 
comb  had  his  share  in  wrenching  the  boat-hooks  from  their 
hold  and  in  the  feverish  self-defeating  activity  of  the  oars 
men. 

Out  of  the  semi-darkness  on  the  submarine  torches 
spouted  light.  Out  of  the  turmoil  on  conning-tower  and 
deck,  cries  of  fury  crystallized  to  a  single  sentence  repeated 
in  German  by  a  dozen  tongues,  "  Axes !  Axes !  Stave 
her  in ! " 

The  first  lieutenant  gesticulated  madly. 

"  Stop  rowing  instantly,  or  I  fire !  " 

"  Eow !  Row  hard !  For  God's  sake,"  Grant's  voice 
prayed,  "  give  me  an  oar !  " 

No  one  heeded;  the  rowers  rowed  for  their  lives.  Two 
revolver-shots  rang  out,  and  the  chief  engineer  rowed  no 
more. 

Instead  of  pursuing,  the  submarine  had  darted  away. 
She  was  swinging  half  round  a  circle;  she  was,  God  in 
heaven !  what  now  ?  She  was  heading  this  way  again, 
coming  at  full  speed. 

Newcomb  brought  his  eyes  back  to  the  faces  nearest  him. 
They  showed  him  only  that  his  own  sick  sense  of  helpless 
ness  was  shared,  and  shared  the  remembrance  of  that 
threat,  but  for  the  girl.  To  ram  the  lifeboat?  As  easy 
as  for  a  child  to  stick  the  end  of  a  spoon  through  the 
breakfast  egg. 


THE  MESSENGEK  373 

On  she  came;  you  heard  the  mutter  of  her  engines. 
He  could  n't  bring  himself  to  look  at  the  girl.  For  fear 
of  meeting  her  eyes  with  knowledge  in  them  at  last  New- 
comb  found  himself  turning  dizzily  away  from  all  those 
stricken  faces.  In  the  teeth  of  death  he  remembered  star 
ing  round  the  black  half-circle  of  the  heavens. 

The  very  cloud-wrack  was  seized  by  fear  ...  it  ran 
scudding  away  from  the  scene.  It  left  naked  the  shiver 
ing  stars.  Two  little  sounds  alone  in  all  that  silence:  a 
sobbing  of  water  against  the  sides  of  the  boat;  and  that 
other,  the  low  mutter  of  the  oncoming  doom. 

In  that  final  rush,  the  blackness  in  which  the  submarine 
moved,  curled  up  and  fell  away  from  her  bow  like  black 
earth  on  either  side  of  a  ploughshare  —  now  like  earth 
snow  powdered. 

That  was  the  last  thing  Newcomb  remembered  —  of  the 
curling  white  lip  of  the  bow  wave  as  the  engine  of  death 
came  rushing  at  the  lifeboat.  That  and  voices  in  the  ex 
tremity  of  horror  that  cried :  "  Jump !  Jump !  " 

Those  who  did  n't  were  not  seen  again. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SO  long  it  takes  to  tell  these  things.  So  brief  a  time 
to  happen.  In  eighteen  seconds  the  submarine  had 
gone  a  thousand  yards,  and  men  struggling  in  her  wake 
had  crowded  a  lifetime  into  a  span. 

Horrible  as  were  the  cries  of  the  drowning,  Newcomb's 
crowning  fear  was  that  they  would  cease.  He  clung  to  his 
broken  grating,  and  strained  his  eyes  in  the  changing  light. 
Off  there  to  left  of  him  —  not  again  the  submarine !  She 
had  checked  her  course  and  swung  round.  As  quickly  as 
she  had  shot  away  after  her  murderous  work  was  done, 
here,  describing  a  half-circle,  she  was  rushing  back. 

Almost  at  the  instant  of  recognition  of  the  changed 
course  there,  only  a  few  yards  off,  a  head,  two  heads, 
showed  above  the  water.  Newcomb  remembered  crying  out 
a  warning,  "  She  's  coming  back ! "  as  the  swift  seconds 
brought  the  swifter  U-boat  and  the  sound  of  renewed  fir 
ing  nearer.  Newcomb  could  see  the  figure  of  the  com 
mander  jumping  about  grotesquely  on  the  narrow  platform 
of  the  conning-tower,  and  heard  him  calling  down  to  the 
armed  sailors  on  the  deck.  And  all  the  while  the  com 
mander  himself  kept  firing,  like  a  madman,  down  on  the 
water  at  every  head  he  saw.  Hit  or  miss  and  on  to  the 
next.  As  the  submarine  raced  by,  he  shot  even  the  bits 
of  wreckage ;  he  shot  the  shadows.  "  Ha !  da  ist  eins. 
Und  da  —  siehst  du  ?  Xoch  eins  — !  " 

Meanwhile  the  torch-lights  and  the  flash,  sweeping  again 

374 


THE  MESSENGEK  375 

the  farther  reaches,  lighted  fiercely  whatever  they  played 
on,  and  thus  the  intervening  lanes  of  blackness  between 
the  lighted  ridges  of  the  waves  offered  momentary  asylum. 
Up  one  of  these  dim  stretches  Newcomb  trod  water,  cling 
ing  to  his  fragment  of  grating. 

How  long  after  he  never  knew  before  that  moment  when 
he  sighted  the  moving  shadow  that  turned  into  a  lifeboat. 
A  man  clung  to  the  gunwale  with  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  helped  hands  outstretched  from  the  boat  to  draw  some 
one  on  board. 

"  There  is  no  r-r-room ! "  a  voice  was  crying.  In  the 
midst  of  the  passionate  altercation  between  the  officer  in 
charge  and  a  woman  in  the  boat,  Grant  and  Newcomb  were 
hauled  in  and  given  rum. 

At  intervals,  with  his  flash,  the  officer  in  charge  swept 
the  circumambient  shadow.  Though  Nemcomb  was  be 
ginning  to  revive,  he  could  n't  face  that  void.  He  turned 
to  the  human  presences  nearest  him.  At  his  side  was  a 
man  the  officer  called  Gillow,  thick-set,  ruddy,  with  close 
black  beard  and  lively  eyes.  Among  those  last  confused 
recollections  on  board  the  Leyden  had  been  this  fellow's 
running  up  on  deck  barefoot  and  in  his  underclothes.  He 
sat  now  in  somebody's  overcoat,  with  a  blanket  muffled 
about  his  legs  and  feet.  A  child  somewhere  behind  began 
to  cry. 

Newcomb  turned  to  look  back.  The  exploring  light 
picked  out  a  head  in  a  close-fitting  cap  tied  well  down  with 
a  heavy  veil  that  left  the  face  uncovered.  For  an  instant 
ISTewcomb  met  the  challenging  eyes  of  Greta. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  dead  or  unconscious,  lay  the 
girl,  Nan  Ellis. 


376  THE  MESSENGER 

The  night  wore  on,  with  low-voiced  tales  of  what  they 
had  been  through.  Engineer  Gillow  told  how,  in  the  con 
fusion  of  the  launching,  lifeboat  No.  11,  originally  in 
charge  of  the  officer  of  the  watch,  had  collided  with  two 
other  boats.  All  three  were  damaged,  No.  11  so  seriously 
as  to  be  virtually  useless.  In  the  end  No.  11  was  n't 
needed,  was  Gillow's  terse  summary  of  what  followed.  It 
had  n't  been  possible  to  save  everybody ;  they  had  done  their 
best.  There  was  a  poor  devil  there  in  the  bow,  a  naked 
stoker  they  had  picked  up.  He  'd  had  his  clothes  burned 
off  by  the  fire  in  the  engine-room.  Assistant-Engineer 
Gillow  himself  had  as  narrow  an  escape  as  any;  he  'd  been 
asleep  while  the  torpedoed  ship  was  sinking.  A  rush  of 
sea  water  had  washed  him  out  of  his  bunk  barely  in  time, 
as  he  put  it,  to  catch  the  last  boat.  Now  he  was  going 
to  catch  forty  winks.  He  folded  his  short  arms  with  an 
air  of  resolution,  and  dropped  his  beard  into  the  turned-up 
collar  of  the  borrowed  coat.  In  two  or  three  minutes  he 
slept.  The  rest  sat  waiting  for  the  day. 

That  dawning,  so  passionately  longed  for,  showed  no 
hint  of  man  or  of  his  work  on  all  the  plain  of  ocean,  not 
so  much  as  a  shattered  thwart. 

On  the  lifeboat  itself  the  gray,  sun-shrouded  morning 
showed  a  company  of  eight  men,  counting  Newcomb,  Grant, 
and  the  stoker;  seven  women;  four  children,  fretful  from 
chill  and  hunger;  and  a  half -grown  cabin-boy.  The  sec 
ond  officer,  a  wiry,  hard-bitten  Welshman,  was  staring 
through  his  binoculars  north,  south,  east,  west.  Hardly 
would  he  persuade  himself  to  put  the  glass  down  when  he 
would  grip  hold  of  it  again.  Up  it  would  go  to  eyes  that 


THE  MESSENGER  377 

had  gleamed  an  instant  with  some  new,  some  always  futile 
hope. 

The  naked  stoker  had  been  partly  clothed.  He  lay  in  a 
stupor  of  exhaustion  under  damp  coats  and  sodden  canvas. 
The  gray  daylight  showed  Julian  Grant  with  feverish  eyes, 
and  dry  lips  that  said,  "  Nan  's  sleeping,  too."  She  shared 
the  tarpaulin  which  had  been  spread  in  the  first  place  for 
the  stoker  and  two  children.  Grant  and  two  women,  a 
stewardess  and  a  passenger  with  a  baby,  occupied  the  seat 
facing  the  captain  and  the  bow,  facing  that  still  figure  of 
Nan  Ellis.  Miss  Greta,  as  the  morning  showed,  was  the 
only  woman  not  disheveled.  Whether  in  the  collision  she 
had  been  wet  at  all,  she  looked  dry  now,  and  still  rigor 
ously  buttoned  up,  tied  down,  and  belted  in.  She  was 
still  wearing  the  small  flat  Eiich-Sak,  lying  high  on  her 
high  shoulders,  and  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  second  offi 
cer;  especially  when,  after  he  had  shut  his  binocular  case 
with  a  snap,  he  began  to  serve  out  rations  of  biscuit  and 
water. 

A  child  began  to  wail.  "  I  can't  keep  him  warm,"  said 
the  mother.  Her  face  was  wet. 

After  consultation  with  Engineer  Gillow,  the  second  of 
ficer  decided  it  was  no  use  waiting  for  the  rescue  ship.  He 
called  for  rowers.  He  called  for  something  white  for  a 
flag  of  distress. 

A  man  offered  a  gray  sweater  for  the  crying  child  on 
condition  the  mother  should  take  off  its  white  frock  and  let 
that  be  flown  as  a  signal.  The  mother  wanted  to  take  the 
sweater  and  keep  the  white  frock,  too.  With  difficulty  she 
was  persuaded  to  the  exchange. 


378  THE  MESSENGEK 

Grant  had  roused  Nan  Ellis  to  take  her  share  of  the 
biscuit  and  water  ration.  She  opened  heavy  eyes,  ate, 
drank,  and  slept  again  the  profound  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

Newcomb  and  Grant  had  been  among  the  first  to  take 
each  his  turn  at  the  oars.  They  kept  it  up  in  shifts  all  the 
windless  day,  and  all  day  long  the  baby's  frock  signaled 
the  distress  which  there  seemed  no  eye  on  all  the  globe  to 
heed. 

Toward  evening  the  stoker  grew  delirious.  Out  of  the 
wrappings  that  concealed  him  he  lifted  a  huge  head,  bris 
tling  with  coarse,  red  hair. 

"  I  know,"  he  shouted  in  a  Devon  accent  — "  suffocated 
in  the  bunkers !  That 's  it ;  yes,  suffocated !  "  The  giant 
choked  and  began  to  thrash  about. 

"  Can't  have  that ! "  called  out  the  second  officer. 
"  Quiet  there !  "  The  stern  voice  seemed  to  bring  the  man 
to  himself  for  a  minute.  At  the  first  sign  of  disturbance 
Newcomb  had  turned  with  an  impulse  to  reassure  Nan 
Ellis;  but  she  slept  on. 

The  eyes  of  the  second  officer  came  back  once  more  from 
that  endless  interrogation  of  the  ocean.  "  Boat  won't  stand 
much,"  he  said  in  an  undertone.  "  Mended  one  leak." 

Down  at  his  feet  the  red-haired  giant  was  stirring  again. 
He  heaved,  he  cursed  at  some  obstruction  there  under  the 
canvas.  He  sat  up  and  pulled  out  a  block  and  tackle ;  and 
with  it  he  fell  to  hammering  at  a  stay. 

"  Open  the  hatch  .  .  ."  he  shouted  a  string  of  foul  lan 
guage. 

Nan  Ellis  started  up,  and  turned  with  horror  to  face  the 
incredible  apparition. 

"  Lash  him  down,"  ordered  the  second  officer,  calmly. 


THE  MESSENGER  379 

It  was  a  horrible  performance.  The  girl  hid  her  eyes  till 
Grant  had  put  her  in  his  own  place,  but  facing  the  other 
way,  while  he  helped  the  engineer,  the  cabin-boy,  and  New- 
comb  to  overpower  the  man.  The  girl  sat  crouched  at 
Greta's  side,  each  looking  a  different  way.  In  an  inter 
val  in  his  grim  business  Newcomb  watched  for  the  moment 
of  recognition  between  the  two,  a  moment  strangely  long 
delayed.  Presently  it  dawned  upon  him  that  each  was  in 
timately  aware  of  the  other's  presence  and  that  neither 
meant  to  make  a  sign. 

In  the  little  breeze  that  at  last  was  springing  up  the 
second  officer,  with  help  of  Gillow  and  the  cabin-boy,  was 
getting  up  the  sail.  For  the  space  of  a  good  hour  the  boat 
sped  over  the  water.  At  dusk  the  wind  freshened,  the  sail 
was  reefed  down  for  the  night  under  a  sky  all  nimbus  near 
the  horizon,  the  zenith  full  of  drab-colored  cumulus  mov 
ing  sullenly  northeast. 

"  It 's  below  freezing  all  right,"  some  one  said. 

Another  spoke  of  the  effect  of  icebergs  drifting  down. 

"  It 's  the  time  of  year  that  happens." 

"  I  wish  it  would  freeze  the  stoker's  tongue,"  said  the 
cabin-boy. 

An  hour  went  by,  longer  than  the  longest  day.  New- 
comb  was  dropping  into  a  painful  doze  when  something 
brought  him  back  to  a  yet  more  painful  consciousness. 
What  was  it?  He  was  too  much  reduced  to  take  the  small 
est  initiative  in  finding  out.  He  sat  huddled,  staring  at 
the  moon  risen  well  above  the  nimbus  and  for  the  moment 
riding  clear  even  of  the  scattered  cumulus.  Engineer  Gil- 
low  had  the  watch.  The  second  officer  sat  in  the  bow, 
with  rigid  back  and  open  eyes.  The  stoker  moaned. 


380  THE  MESSENGER 

Every  one  else  slept  or  seemed  to  sleep.  No,  not  the  two 
women  sitting  together  with  eyes  averted. 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  was  you,  Nan,"  he  heard  Greta 
whisper. 

"  You  knew  it  was  somebody,"  came  the  answer  at  last. 

"  All  I  could  think  of  is,  he  's  waiting  for  me !  Ernst ! 
He 's  escaped.  I  dare  not  die  while  Ernst  needs  me." 

The  girl  made  no  sound. 

"  Can't  you  understand  what  it  means  to  me  that  he 
should  say,  '  For  the  sake  of  everything  we  care  for,  I 
must  come  and  help  him ! '  How  could  I  think  that  any 
body  else's  life  mattered  —  when  Ernst  is  waiting  for  me !  " 

"  Waiting  for  you.  .  .  .  Where  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  find  him  —  And  nobody  else  will !  '  It  all 
depends  on  you,  Greta ' ;  that 's  what  he  says.  He  '11  see 
that  I  'm  safe,  he  says, '  and  happy ! '  For  the  first  time  he 
speaks  of  marriage.  He  needs  me ! "  she  triumphed. 
"  One  last  great  service  is  laid  upon  us,  then  Buenos  Aires 
—  Ernst  and  I." 

The  stoker's  moaning  mounted  to  a  horrible,  hoarse  yell. 
It  waked  the  sleeping,  half-numb  children.  They,  too, 
screamed  with  fright  and  misery.  So  the  hours  wore  on, 
with  appeals  for  water,  with  weeping  and  with  worse. 
Once  the  stoker  wrenched  himself  free.  They  bound  him 
again.  That  made  him  more  violent  than  before.  All 
the  rest  of  the  night  he  raved.  In  the  morning  he  was 
gone.  No  one  asked  a  question. 

The  sail  went  up  early  that  day,  though  the  sea  looked 
threatening  and  the  wind  was  squally.  Within  the  hour 
all  canvas  had  to  be  furled  and  the  sea-anchor  streamed. 
The  lamentable  figures  in  the  boat  huddled  closer.  Of 


THE  MESSENGEK  381 

Greta  you  could  hardly  see  a  distinguishing  sign,  so  was 
she  muffled  and  surrounded.  The  seas  rose  higher  and 
the  wash  came  flooding  in. 

"  Just  as  well  they  should  think  we  get  it  over  the  gun 
wale,"  the  second  officer  said  to  Newcomb.  "  Some  of  the 
damned  rivets  must  have  got  strained." 

The  passengers  began  to  crowd  up,  half  toward  the  bow, 
half  at  the  stern.  Amidships  was  awash. 

The  hail  turned  to  sleet,  and  the  sleet  to  fine  rain. 
In  the  stark  misery  of  it  the  longing  grew  almost  irresist 
ible  to  jump  overboard  and  end  it  all.  More  than  one  of 
that  tragic  company  thought  again  and  again :  "  I  've 
come  to  the  end.  I  can  bear  no  more,"  not  knowing  yet  the 
awful  power  of  the  flesh  to  endure  and  keep  the  soul  im 
prisoned. 

But  the  chance-made  captain  knew.  "  A  hand  here !  " 
he  ordered,  and  Newcomb  helped  the  engineer  to  spread 
the  boat-cover  over  the  people,  and  to  do  it  in  spite  of  the 
icy  wind  that  tore  the  freezing  canvas  out  of  one's  grasp 
and  seemed  along  with  it  to  tear  out  one's  finger-nails; 
failing  that,  to  wrench  one's  half-frozen  fingers  out  of  their 
sockets.  Yet  at  last  the  thing  was  spread  and  fastened. 
There  was  no  one  who  didn't  welcome  it,  and  none  to 
whom,  as  shelter,  it  was  n't  a  mock.  Some  craned  out  and 
held  the  canvas  so  as  to  catch  the  rain.  There  was  enough 
to  sting,  enough  to  chill  the  marrow,  but  not  enough  to 
drink ;  yet  furred  and  feverish  tongues  were  pressed  against 
the  moistened  canvas. 

Toward  evening  the  appeals  for  water  became  demands. 
One  of  the  women,  a  thin,  febrile  creature  with  insane 
eyes,  grew  violent.  For  more  than  one  the  early  stages 


382  THE  MESSENGER 

of  hushed  despair  had  passed.  Few  were  able  to  sit  still. 
They  came  out  from  under  cover  with  faces  that  made  the 
heart  shrink.  They  climbed  about  the  boat  in  the  failing 
light,  moaning,  threatening.  Among  the  worst  was  the 
cabin-boy.  It  was  clear  he  was  light-headed. 

"  You  've  been  drinking  sea-water,"  the  captain 
arraigned  him,  fiercely. 

The  boy  denied  the  charge,  whimpering. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  the  engineer  interrupted,  "  the  sea-an 
chor  's  gone."  The  captain  lashed  two  oars  together  and 
made  another.  In  the  early  darkness  the  wind  freshened, 
drenching  the  boat  with  spray. 

Greta  had  joined  in  the  bailing.  She  came  up  out  of 
the  stern  like  some  hibernating  brown  animal  of  the  bursa 
family.  She  worked  well. 

They  bailed  in  shifts,  hour  by  hour.  The  men  bailed 
all  night  long.  They  bailed  till  the  buckets  and  pannikins 
fell  out  of  their  swollen  hands.  In  the  small  hours  of 
morning  Nan  Ellis  had  crawled  to  the  seat  by  Grant. 

Another  eternity  went  by.  Slow  daylight  battled  long 
with  the  mists  of  night  and  fog.  The  girl  sat  with  her 
arms  round  the  rigid  figure  of  Julian  Grant;  but  for  that 
he  would  have  slipped  away  like  that  other  —  Did  any 
one  know  besides  Newcomb  of  the  gray  head  lying  face 
downward  in  the  wash  that  was  sucking  and  slapping  to 
and  fro  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat? 

Newcomb  himself  lost  all  sense  of  time  in  those  inter 
vals  of  partial  unconsciousness  too  full  of  suffering  to  de 
serve  the  name  of  sleep,  but  he  recollected  the  timbre  of 
the  voice  that  called  out  something  inarticulate  in  German 
just  before  Gillow  shouted,  "  Light !  a  light !  " 


THE  MESSENGER  383 

And  there  it  was,  far  away  to  eastward,  infinitesimal,  but 
steady,  a  gleam.  At  first  it  looked  as  if  it  might  be  the 
morning  star  shining  through  the  breaking  fog-veil,  red 
like  Mars.  Then,  changing  like  only  man-made  bright 
ness,  the  light  showed  green. 

The  excitement  among  those  who  still  were  conscious 
bore  its  touch  of  mania.  Where  the  captain's  stern  call  to 
order  might  have  failed,  the  question,  "  Who  knows  if  it 
is  n't  a  submarine  ?  "  sobered  the  most  hopeful. 

"  Whatever  it  is,  it 's  coming  nearer !  "  Nan  Ellis  cried 
the  news  at  Julian's  irresponsive  ear.  Out  of  the  cage  of 
despair  her  flagging  voice  soared  in  a  rapture  of  recovered 
faith :  "  Light,  Julian !  A  light !  " 

And  now  there  stood  out  against  the  streak  of  dawn  the 
hull  and  funnels  of  a  steamer.  All  eyes  watched  that  phan 
tom  ship  as  though  for  an  instant  to  lose  sight  of  her  would 
be  tantamount  to  letting  her  go  to  the  bottom.  They  held 
her  to  her  holy  purpose  by  that  thread  of  vision,  the  optic 
nerve.  And  to  those  passionately  watchful  eyes  the  course 
of  the  steamer  had  seemed  to  lie  in  a  dead  reckoning  right 
across  the  liefboat.  She  could  n't  miss  them.  Suddenly 
her  course  diverged;  she  was  bearing  to  the  west!  New- 
comb  saw  the  captain's  hand  shake  as  he  lighted  a  signal, 
his  only  and  most  precious  Coston  Light.  Ah,  she  got 
that!  Another  feeble  cry  went  up  from  the  lifeboat,  for 
the  steamer  slackened  speed,  she  turned.  She  had  altered 
her  course  for  fear  of  running  the  lifeboat  down.  Now 
perhaps  she  could  see  — 

Anyway,  eyes  in  the  lifeboat  could  see  —  the  steamer 
sheering  off  to  southward.  The  captain  and  the  engineer 
shot  off  their  pistols.  Others  in  the  boat,  not  too  far  gone, 


384  THE  MESSENGER 

screamed  like  creatures  on  the  rack.  It  wasn't  tragic  so 
much  as  horrible.  They  howled  like  animals. 

The  ship  went  on.     She  faded.     She  was  gone. 

"  They  're  afraid  it 's  a  trap,"  said  the  engineer.  "  You 
did  n't  know  it,  but  we  're  a  decoy-boat,  ha,  ha !  Signals 
of  distress  ?  Ha !  ha !  Too  thin.  We  're  a  submarine. 
Did  n't  you  know  ?  " 

More  than  men  and  boats  had  been  sacrificed  in  the  war. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

NAPIER  was  not  yet  out  of  the  hospital  when  the 
cable  came,  telling  the  date  of  Julian's  sailing  from 
New  York  and  that  Nan  was  returning  by  the  same  ship. 

Nine  days  after,  Napier  sat  in  his  sister's  London  house, 
raging  feverishly  at  his  slow  convalescence,  which  was  n't 
in  reality  slow  at  all.  To  him,  there,  caught,  as  he  said, 
"by  the  foot,  like  a  rabbit  in  a  trap,"  came  the  awful 
news  —  they  still  cried  these  things  in  streets  —  of  the  tor 
pedoing  of  the  Leyden. 

He  sent  his  man  Day  to  Liverpool  that  evening  to  give 
help  or,  at  the  worst,  to  send  back  instant  news.  The 
knowledge  that  Sir  James  and  Lady  Grant  had  taken  the 
first  train  on  the  same  errand  was  a  thought  to  lean  on. 

Yet  those  next  days  of  waiting!  They  were  followed 
by  the  news,  wirelessed  from  the  SS.  Clonmel,  which  told 
of  falling  in  with  a  handful  of  Leyden  survivors  among  a 
boatful  of  dead.  "Identities  not  established,"  it  an 
nounced.  That  meant  people  too  injured  or  too  delirious 
to  tell  their  names ;  people  rescued  too  late,  people  dying. 

Who  could  sit  and  wait  in  London?  Not  Napier. 
Within  two  hours  of  a  stormy  interview  with  his  surgeon 
Napier  was  on  his  way. 

Leaning  on  his  crutches,  he  stood  in  the  crowd  on  the 
Liverpool  wharf.  Among  the  faces  all  about  him,  fear- 

385 


386  THE  MESSENGEB 

darkened,  hope-lit,  tear-stained,  or  merely  curious,  one  of 
them  caught  Napier's  eye  for  its  look  of  detachment.  Or 
was  it  for  something  familiar?  The  blue  eyes  crossed  his 
with  no  flicker  of  recognition.  But  when  Napier  looked 
round  again,  the  man  was  withdrawing  from  the  line  of 
vision,  and  to  do  that  was  no  easy  matter  in  the  crush. 
Was  it  Ernst  Pforzheim,  with  his  mustache  shaved  off? 
Napier  had  decided  against  so  far-fetched  an  assumption 
before  the  incident  was  forgotten  in  the  wild  cheering  that 
broke  from  the  crowd,  and  which  rose  again  and  again,  as 
the  Clonmel  steamed  up  the  Mersey  with  its  tragic  remnant. 

There  was  no  glimpse  of  Julian  among  those  ravaged 
faces,  and  no  use,  Napier  told  himself,  no  earthly  use,  to 
look  for  that  other.  Yet  all  the  forces  of  body  and  of  soul 
met  in  the  concentration  of  his  scrutiny  from  end  to  end 
of  the  slowing  ship. 

No,  she  was  n't  there.  Napier's  right  hand  tightened  on 
the  bar  of  his  crutch.  He  leaned  an  instant  against  the 
shoulder  of  his  servant,  feeling  the  dreaded  onset  of  that 
dizzzy  sickness  which  comes  back  upon  men  who  have  had 
a  touch  of  gas.  Still,  he  was  master  enough  of  himself  to 
notice  that  the  captain  moved  a  little  as  he  put  up  his  hand 
in  recognition  of  some  one  on  the  wharf.  Then  Napier 
saw  her  —  or  was  it  Nan  ? 

The  face,  with  the  scarf  wound  round  it,  was  like  a 
mask.  Lines,  features,  the  pale  brune  coloring,  were  there ; 
but  where  was  Nan? 

A  second  cheer  had  gone  up  from  the  docks  as  the  Clon 
mel  made  fast.  The  crowd  surged  forward,  shouting  ques 
tions  about  $he  fate  of  certain  Liverpool  stokers  and  sea- 


THE  MESSENGER  387 

men.  The  police  intervened,  and  opened  a  lane  as  the  first 
passengers  came  down  the  gangway,  hatless,  unshaven,  in 
borrowed  clothes.  Women  in  the  crowd  below,  crying  out 
names,  questions,  had  to  be  held  back  by  main  force.  "  Let 
the  passengers  land  first ! "  And  still  the  cries  went  up, 
one  sharper  than  all  the  rest:  "Is  Jimmy  O'Brian 
saved  ?  " 

The  pressure  was  relieved  about  the  gangway  when  Nan, 
one  of  the  last  to  land,  had  reached  the  wharf.  She  stood 
with  those  vacant  eyes  of  hers  on  Gavan's  crutch  instead  of 
on  his  face. 

«  You  —  wounded !  " 

He  had  not  shaped  the  words,  "  Where 's  Julian  ?  "  and 
yet  she  answered  him.  "  Julian  is  dead.  The  rescue 
people  buried  him  —  at  sea." 

Napier  tried  ineffectually  enough  to  shield  her  from  a 
man  with  a  note-book,  volleying  questions. 

While  Napier  and  his  man,  with  the  girl  between  them, 
slowly  made  their  way  through  the  throng,  Napier  told  her 
she  must  take  over  the  rooms  he  had  engaged. 

"  You  won't  be  able  to  travel  for  a  day  or  two,"  he  said. 

She  stopped  short  at  that,  and  began  to  look  about  with 
those  unseeing  eyes.  She  was  "  quite  able  to  travel."  She 
"must  travel."  She  was 'going  to  Scotland. 

A  chill  gripped  Gavan's  heart.     Was  she  delirious  ? 

"  Anywhere  you  like  when  you  've  had  a  few  days  — 

"A  few  days?  I  can't  wait  a  few  days.  She  can't 
wait  —  Julian's  mother.  I  'm  going  first  to  her." 

An  immense  relief  swept  over  him.  The  mind  was 
there,  the  faithful,  loyal  mind. 


388  THE  MESSENGER 

"  You  nee  n't  go  to  Scotland.  The  Grants  are  behind 
you,  in  that  crowd,  talking  to  the  captain." 

Vision  rose  again  in  the  dimmed  eyes.  A  great  tender 
ness  lit  the  still  features  as  Nan  caught  sight  of  the  tall, 
bent  old  man  beside  Julian's  mother,  and  the  changed  face 
of  the  woman. 

When  once  she  had  reached  them,  the  last  threads  that 
had  seemed  precariously  to  hold  her  to  Napier  snapped. 
Her  meeting  with  the  Grants  was  very  quiet,  but  evidently 
it  changed  the  old  people's  plans  in  so  far  as  they  had 
plans.  Sir  James  took  Nan  on  his  arm.  The  policeman, 
piloting  Lady  Grant,  led  the  way  out  of  the  crowd  within 
a  yard  of  Napier.  The  girl  turned  to  him. 

"  Gavan ! " 

"  Where  shall  you  be  ?  "  Napier  made  a  motion  to  join 
her. 

"  She  '11  be  with  us,  naturally,"  said  Julian's  father,  his 
eyes  resting  an  instant  on  Napier.  "  And  you  —  soon 
you  '11  come  — "  he  did  n't  try  to  finish.  That  "  soon  "  had 
said  enough.  The  old  man  could  not  at  the  moment  bear 
even  Gavan  near  his  grief.  The  look  in  his  eyes  brought 
tears  to  Napier's  as,  forlornly,  he  watched  the  little  group 
disappear  in  the  crowd. 

What  a  world !     Would  people  ever  be  happy  again  ? 

The  reporters,  who  had  got  hold  of  the  captain  and  one 
of  the  survivors,  surrounded  the  pair  three  and  four  deep. 
Their  ranks  were  broken  by  a  distracted  woman  with  a 
shawl  over  her  head,  strained  tight  round  her  piteous  face. 

"  Is  it  here  he  is,  the  gentleman  who  was  saved  ?  For 
the  love  of  God,  sir,  did  ye  see  Jimmy  O'Brian  ?  I  'm  his 
mother." 


THE  MESSENGEK  389 

Napier  leaned  more  heavily  on  his  servant. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this,"  he  said.  But  they  could  n't. 
People  who  had  n't  found  their  friends  were  not  to  be  con 
vinced  they  were  n't  on  board.  Again  and  again  denied 
access  to  the  ship,  they  pressed  through  the  crowd  with  cries 
and  questions.  They  could  n't  see  the  crutch.  Napier  was 
knocked  and  jostled.  The  old  gas-sickness  was  heavy  on 
him.  He  took  refuge  on  a  sea-chest  behind  a  pile  of  lug 
gage,  and  sent  Day  to  keep  places  in  the  train.  When  he 
lifted  his  swimming  head,  struggling  still  against  that  tide 
of  nausea  rising  to  choke  him,  Napier  saw  that  the  crowd 
had  thinned  now  to  a  few  groups  of  last,  despairing  lin 
gerers.  Even  the  cries  for  Jimmy  O'Brian  had  sunk  into 
the  same  stillness  that  wrapped  the  sailor  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea.  A  little  old  man  in  a  threadbare  coat  closely  but 
toned  round  a  meager  body  went  up  to  the  guard  at  the 
foot  of  the  gangway. 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ?     The  passengers  are  all  off  ?  " 

"  Have  n't  I  told  you  no  end  o'  times  ?  They  're  gone, 
every  man  Jack  of  'em,  and  we  're  hoistin'  the  gangway." 

The  old  man  walked  forlornly  away,  his  threadbare  ulster 
flapping  against  his  shins. 

"  Any  idea  when  the  other  lady  will  be  coming  off  ?  "  a 
foreign-sounding  voice  asked  on  the  other  side  of  the  lug- 


"  '  Other  lady ' !     What  other  lady  ?  " 

Napier,  leaning  over,  saw  something  shoved  into  a  grimy 
fist.  The  Clonmel  deck-hand  had  no  need  to  look  at  the 
aid  to  memory.  The  faculty  of  touch  had  applied  the 
stimulus.  "There  was  another  lady,"  he  said;  "but  she 
ain't  comin'  ashore  here.  Goin'  back  with  us  to  Ireland." 


390  THE  MESSENGER 

Napier  watched  the  sailor  take  the  inquirer  over  to  the 
guard.  The  guard  proved  amenable.  In  a  moment  the 
stranger  with  the  square  back  had  passed  up  the  gangway. 
No  detectives  were  with  him;  he  had  gone  on  board  alone. 
If  it  was  n't  Ernst  Pforzheim,  it  was  some  mustacheless  in 
dividual  extremely  like  him  in  feature,  and  as  unlike  as  a 
seedy  bowler,  shabby  clothes,  and  a  slouching  air  could 
render  the  smart  young  gentleman  of  Glenfallon  Castle. 
What  did  it  mean  ? 

The  same  question  seemed  to  have  occurred  to  a  reporter 
who  observed  from  a  distance  this  case  of  flagrant  favorit 
ism.  He  was  further  rewarded  for  his  patience  by  seeing 
presently  the  sailor  who  had  been  tipped  beckoned  by  a 
steward  from  the  top  of  the  gangway.  The  reporter  came 
strolling  along  the  now  nearly  deserted  wharf.  He  coasted 
gloomily  round  the  piled-up  luggage,  looking  at  the  labels. 
When  he  had  passed  out  of  Napier's  range  —  suddenly 
voices ! 

Napier  shifted  his  position  again.  Two  men  who  had 
given  no  sign  of  life  before  were  being  asked  some  question 
by  the  reporter.  One  of  the  pair  caught  Napier's  eye. 
Singleton!  Napier's  chilled  blood  ran  swiftly.  It  was 
Ernst,  then,  who  had  gone  on  board !  And  if  he  did  n't 
come  back,  if  he  was  for  escaping  to  Ireland,  Singleton  and 
his  companion  would  search  the  ship.  Plainly  Singleton 
was  trying  to  get  rid  of  the  reporter.  Whatever  was  afoot 
here,  it  was  not  desirable  to  have  it  in  the  papers.  The 
secret-service  man  and  his  companion,  who  looked  as  if  he 
might  be  a  plain-clothes  policeman,  turned  a  cold  shoulder 
on  the  reporter,  and  suddenly  fell  back  in  the  direction  of 
Vapier.  Suddenly  the  reporter  darted  out  from  the 


THE  MESSENGER  391 

shadow  of  the  luggage  and  stood  hovering  near  the  gang 
way.  The  sailor  and  a  steward  were  bringing  down  a 
shrouded  figure  in  an  invalid  chair  —  a  lady,  you  might 
think,  if  you  did  n't  strongly  suspect  it  to  be  Ernst  doubling 
on  his  track  after  getting  wind  of  Singleton  waiting  down 
there  behind  the  luggage.  When  quiet  had  descended  on 
the  wharf  and  the  ship  was  searched,  Mr.  Ernst  would  be 
far  away. 

"  Put  the  lady  down."  Singleton's  companion  had 
planted  himself  in  the  way  of  the  little  procession,  his  coat 
turned  back  to  show  the  police  badge. 

"  Go  on,  I  tell  you !  "  The  voice  that  came  shrilly  out 
of  the  veils  was  bewilderingly  unlike  the  one  Napier  had 
been  waiting  for.  The  rest  was  mere  pantomime  from 
where  he  sat.  The  veiled  head  turned  and  seemed  to  catch 
sight  of  Singleton.  Whereon  the  invalid  darted  out  of  the 
chair  and  ran  with  extraordinary  fleetness  down  toward  the 
warehouses. 

When  Gavan  had  pulled  himself  up  on  his  crutch,  he  saw 
in  the  middle  distance  Singleton's  companion  and  the  re 
porter  running  along  the  wharf,  while  some  yards  further 
on,  a  squat,  petticoated  figure  struggled  fiercely  in  the  arms 
of  a  fat  policeman.  Hat  and  veil  were  torn  off,  and  Napier 
had  an  instant's  glimpse  of  the  face  of  Greta  von  Schwar- 
zenberg,  horrible  with  fear.  The  next  instant  she  had  suc 
ceeded  in  drawing  back  far  enough  to  lift  her  foot,  and  to 
launch  at  the  policeman  a  totally  unexpected  blow  in  the 
belly.  Stark  astonishment,  as  much  as  anything,  sent  the 
man  stumbling  back  a  couple  of  paces.  The  woman  darted 
past  into  a  region  of  piled  barrels,  casks,  and  cases,  police 
man  and  reporter  in  pursuit.  Napier  had  fleeting  glimpses 


392  THE  MESSENGER' 

of  a  game  of  hide-and-seek,  grotesque  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  it  was  played  with  passion,  Greta  appearing,  disap 
pearing,  the  others  hot  on  her  track,  Greta  tearing  off 
scarf,  ulster,  and  jacket  as  she  ran,  and  casting  them  forth 
for  her  pursuers  to  catch  their  feet  in.  The  policeman 
again  fulfilled  her  hopes,  but  in  vain  was  the  net  spread  in 
sight  of  Singleton.  He  it  was  who  at  the  most  critical 
moment  headed  her  off  from  the  street.  Back  she  doubled 
toward  the  water  and  was  once  more  lost  to  view. 

"  If  it  was  anybody  else,"  Napier  said,  struggling  to  a 
balance  on  the  well  foot,  "  I  'd  say  she  had  n't  a  dog's 
chance." 

"  No,  sir,"  the  returned  Day  remarked  obligingly  as  he 
steadied  the  crutch. 

Owing,  Napier  afterward  learned,  to  police  orders  in  con 
nection  with  the  apprehension  of  a  passenger  off  the  Clon- 
mel,  the  Euston  train  was  still  in  the  station.  As  Napier 
hobbled  along  the  platform,  Singleton  and  one  of  the  ship's 
officers  went  by,  making  hurried  inspection  of  each  carriage. 
One  door  they  opened  revealed  a  man  lying  out  at  full 
length  on  the  seat.  As  he  raised  his  head,  Napier  recog 
nized  in  the  changed  face  Hallett  Newcomb.  The  Clonmel 
officer  asked  if  his  late  passenger  had  seen  anything  of 
"  the  lady,  the  older  one." 

Newcomb  shook  his  head.  He  'd  heard  she  was  going  on 
to  Ireland. 

"  So  did  we,"  said  Singleton.  "  We  sent  a  man  on  board 
to  induce  her  quietly  to  change  her  mind  ;  but  that  woman  's 
the  devil.  Simply  vanished  into  air,  or,  rather,  7  believe 
she  dived."  All  the  same,  they  went  on  with  their  exami 
nation.  Napier  meanwhile  had  his  bag  brought  into  Hal- 


THE  MESSENGER  393 

lett  Newcomb's  carriage.  The  fruitless  search  for  Greta 
ended;  the  train  was  allowed  to  proceed. 

On  that  journey  back  to  London  Napier  heard  through 
what  the  survivors  of  the  Leyden  had  lived,  to  what  Julian 
had  succumbed. 

In  those  next  days  Nan  lay  in  that  house  in  Berkeley 
Street  where  she  had  helped  to  nurse  Julian  back  to  health. 
Napier  sent  or  telephoned  daily  to  inquire  for  her.  "  Great 
care,  complete  quiet,"  Lady  Grant  wrote  at  the  end  of  a 
week.  "  Not  easily  or  soon  will  she  shake  off  the  horror 
of  that  voyage  and  of  Julian's  death." 

Napier  was  the  less  prepared  for  Singleton's  visit,  a  few 
days  later,  hot-foot  from  Berkeley  Street.  Singleton  had, 
as  he  said,  hunted  up  Miss  Ellis  "  as  a  last  hope."  Oh, 
yes,  he  'd  seen  her. 

"  She  'd  been  on  the  point  of  sending  to  you  to  get  my 
address.  What  I  hoped  she  'd  tell  me,  I  've  come  to  doubt 
if  she  knows.  I  want  your  opinion  on  that.  I  see  now  I 
shall  have  to  go  warily."  Singleton  drew  his  chair  closer 
to  the  fire  and  held  out  a  hand  to  the  blaze.  There  was 
not  wariness  only  in  the  fine  eyes,  but  the  passion  of  the 
quest,  and  behind  all  a  suppressed  excitement,  new  in  Na 
pier's  knowledge  of  the  man.  "  For  months,"  he  went  on, 
"  there 's  been  a  leakage  at  the  War  Office." 

Yes,  Napier  knew  that.  What  he  did  n't  know  was  that 
Schwarzenberg  had  been  the  one  to  make  first-hand  use  of 
the  leakage.  Singleton  had  come  to  believe  she'd  engi 
neered  it.  However  that  might  be,  "  there  's  leakage  still." 

Napier  caught  the  infection  of  Singleton's  excitement. 

"  Can't  Ernst  get  to  the  bottom  of  it  —  with  the  lady's 
kind  help?" 


394  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Her  help  ?  After  he  'd  let  her  into  the  Liverpool 
trap  ?  "  inquired  Singleton  with  scorn  for  such  innocence. 
"  Ernst,  poor  devil,  won  his  release  from  Miss  Greta,  when 
he  'd  got  her  into  our  hands."  The  secret-service  man 
studied  the  fire,  frowning.  "  I  did  n't  get  what  I  went  for, 
but  I  've  had  a  rather  curious  interview  with  your  Ameri 
can  friend.  She  'd  been  looking  at  back  copies  of  the  news 
papers.  The  library,  where  she  was  lying,  was  half  snowed 
under  with  newspapers.  Been  poring  over  accounts  of  the 
torpedoing  and  the  rescue.  But  she  had  n't  been  able  to 
find  anything  about  Greta,  not  a  breath.  'Well/  I  said, 
'  does  n't  that  mean  there  's  nothing  to  say  ?  ' 

"  '  Only  something  to  keep  dark  ?  '  she  suggested.  Oh, 
she  's  no  fool !  She  sat  up  and  looked  through  me.  I  ex 
plained  that  all  I  meant  was  that  Schwarzenberg  might  n't 
be  of  such  general  interest  as  she  imagined.  She  thought 
that  over  a  moment,  and  then  she  said  something  that 
astonished  me  a  good  deal,  given  the  terms  Newcomb  tells 
me  they  'd  been  on.  '  If  it  is  n't  known  where  Greta  is/ 
she  said,  '  that 's  bad  all  round.'  I  asked,  '  Why,  all 
round  ? ' 

"  She  would  n't  answer  directly.  '  To  be  able  to  vanish 
like  that/  she  said.  '  It 's  true,  then ;  you  do  some  things 
badly  over  here.' 

" '  Undoubtedly  we  do.' ):  Singleton  smiled  again  as 
though  recalling  a  compliment  paid  the  British  service. 

And  then  he  owned  that  she  had  very  nearly  bowled  him 
over  the  next  moment  by  saying :  "  '  You  don't  happen  to 
know  where  Mr.  Ernst  Pforzheim  is  ?  ' 

"  '  Pforzheim  ?  '  "  Singleton  had  echoed  feebly  with  his 


THE  MESSENGER  395 

vacant,  uninterested  look.     " '  What  makes  you  think  of 
Pforzheim  ? ' 

" '  Because  wherever  Ernst  Pforzheim  is,  we  '11  find 
Greta.' " 

Singleton  smiled  at  her :  "  You're  clear  off  the  track. 
Pforzheim  was  arrested  ages  ago  and  locked  up." 

"  But  he  escaped ;  Greta  told  me  so." 

"  Well,  he  has  n't  escaped,  so  make  your  mind  easy  about 
that." 

She  lay  silent  a  moment,  turning  it  over  in  her  mind : 
"  But  if  she  did  n't  find  Ernst,  what  did  she  do  ?  " 

Singleton  seemed  not  to  know  the  answer  to  that. 

The  girl  sat  up  with  startling  suddenness :  '"I  thought 
I  'd  ask  you  first,'  she  said. 

"  '  And  second  ?  ' 

"  *  I  shall  have  to  pull  myself  together  and  find  out  if 
somebody  does  n't  know  where  she  is/  " 

Singleton  asked,  "  Why  ?  "  As  she  did  n't  answer  that : 
"Is  there  any  great  hurry ? " 

"  Well,  there  is,"  she  admitted,  with  a  nervous  clasping 
and  unclasping  of  her  hands.  "  I  can't  say  any  more,  but 
the  authorities  have  got  to  know." 

"  To  know  — "     He  waited. 

"  That  Greta  ought  to  be  found." 

"And  when  she  is  found?"  Singleton  inquired  inno 
cently. 

Her  answer  evidently  cost  her  something.  "  She  ought 
to  be  sent  out  of  the  country." 

Singleton  suggested  the  futility  of  that  had  been  proved. 

"That's   why,   that's   why!"     She   clutched   the   silk 


396  THE  MESSENGER 

coverlid.  '"''  The  people  who  know  how  to  deal  with  these 
things  have  got  to  know.  Though  for  me  to  have  to  tell 
them," —  her  eyes  filled  — "  it 's  an  awful  thing !  " 

He  saw  a  way  to  ingratiate  himself. 

"  I  think  I  can  save  you  that,"  he  said. 

"Can  you?  Can  you?  Oh,  I'd  be  endlessly  thank 
ful  ! " 

"  I  did  n't  say  that  nobody  knew  where  to  find  the  lady. 
Lord,  it  made  her  sit  up  straighter  than  ever." 

"  I  was  right,  then,"  she  said.  "  I  felt  you  'd  be  the  one 
to  know.  But  you  are  keeping  back  something.  Mr.  Sin 
gleton,  what  has  happened  to  Greta  ?  " 

He  told  her  nothing  very  serious  had  happened  as  yet. 

She  lay  back  on  the  cushions  an  instant,  with  her  chin  up 
.and  her  eyes  on  the  window  cornice. 

"  Then  —  I  'm  —  not  too  late,"  she  said. 

"Too  late  for  what?" 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  I  did  n't  tell  you  I  could  put  my  hand  on  her,"  he  said. 
"  I  told  you,  very  privately,  of  course,  and  as  a  great  —  the 
greatest  —  mark  of  confidence,  that  there  were  those  who 
could." 

"  Well,  I  've  got  to  be  one  of  them,"  she  said  in  her  short 
cut  American  way.  When  she  saw  he  was  n't  going  to 
notice  that  observation,  she  went  on:  "Ever  since  I  got 
better,  I  've  lain  in  the  room  up  there  waiting  for  a  letter 
from  her."  She  had  said  it  precisely  as  though  her  last 
encounter  with  the  Schwarzenberg  had  been  one  of  ordi 
nary  friendship.  "  I  telegraphed  Lady  Mclntyre  to  for 
ward  any  letters,  and  she  has.  Not  a  thing  from  Greta." 

"  No,  I  dare  say  not,"  Singleton  had  answered. 


THE  MESSENGEK  397 

"  But  why  do  you  '  dare  say  not '  ?  "  Anxiety  settled  on 
her  face  again.  "  You  make  me  all  the  surer  of  what  I  've 
been  feeling  so  strongly  that  I  can't  sleep.  Greta  is  in  ter 
rible  need  of  help.  All  the  more  because  of  what  she's 
done." 

"  And  do  you  imagine,  if  she  were  in  need  of  help,  she  'd 
turn  to  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  certainly." 

Singleton  hadn't  been  able  to  repress  the  rejoinder: 
"  It 's  a  good  thing,  then,  she  can't."  He  was  n't  the  least 
prepared  for  the  sensation  by  that  innocent  utterance. 

"  She  can't!  "  The  girl  had  risen,  and  the  silk  coverings 
fell  about  her  feet  as  she  stood  there  with  frightened  eyes, 
saying  under  her  breath,  "  Why  can't  she  ?  " 

He  did  his  best  to  soothe  her.  "  You  've  just  admitted 
you  would  n't  have  her  free  to  carry  out  her  designs." 

"  No !  no !  "  She  dropped  weakly  on  the  edge  of  the 
sofa  and  sat  leaning  forward :  "  Not  free  to  do  harm,  but 
surely  she  is  free  to  write  to  a  friend  ?  " 

"  I  would  n't,  if  I  were  you,  be  heard  calling  yourself  a 
friend." 

"  I  was  a  friend,"  she  said.  "  How  far  can  you  go  back, 
once  you  've  been  an  intimate  friend  ?  " 

"You  have  never  been  a  friend,  intimate  or  otherwise, 
because  you  never  really  knew  the  woman."  And  then  he 
told  her  —  not  the  details  of  the  struggle  on  the  wharf, 
the  escape  at  risk  of  drowning,  and  the  two  days'  pursuit 
of  one  of  the  most  notorious  spies  in  Europe.  He  told  her 
merely  that  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  was  under  detention 
during  his  Majesty's  pleasure. 

When  he  had  done  so,  he  devoutly  wished  he  had  n't. 


398  THE  MESSENGER 

"Instead  of  helping  us  to  find  out  who  the  woman's 
accomplices  are/'  he  complained  to  Napier,  "  your  Miss 
Ellis  will  be  worrying  us  about  the  woman  herself." 

Then  Singleton  developed  the  idea  that  had  come  to  him 
after  leaving  Berkeley  Street.  Might  n't  it  be  possible  to 
get  the  all-important  clue  out  of  Schwarzenberg  herself  by 
means  of  the  Ellis  girl  if  the  authorities  could  be  persuaded 
to  give  her  access  to  Miss  Ellis? 

Napier  was  quite  sure  when  his  visitor  left  that  Single 
ton  was  convinced  of  the  hopelessness  as  well  as  the  inad- 
visability  of  that  device.  Napier  thought  the  less  about 
what  lie  characterized  to  himself  as  "  the  fellow's  crazy 
project/'  because  his  mind  was  occupied  with  endless  specu 
lations  about  Nan. 

A  sentence  in  a  letter  which  came  the  next  day  in  answer 
to  one  of  Napier's,  shed  a  certain  light.  "  Don't  you,  too, 
feel  that  I  must  tell  Lady  Grant  how  things  are  before  I 
see  you  here  ?  I  have  n't  the  strength  for  that  just  yet." 
She  went  on  to  say  she  'd  seen  Singleton  and  she  had  since 
tried  to  get  more  definite  news  through  the  authorities. 
"  But  you  won't  want  to  hear  about  Greta,  though  I  must 
just  tell  you  that  Mr.  Singleton  has  been  very  kind.  He  's 
found  out  she  's  a  Prisoner  of  the  First  Class.  That 's  so 
like  Greta,  if  she  was  to  be  a  prisoner  at  all ! " 

In  his  uneasiness  Napier  managed,  two  days  later,  to  get 
Singleton  on  the  telephone.  He  was  told  in  a  voice  with 
impatience  of  "  the  stupidity  at  H.  Q.  which  persisted  in 
blocking  the  unceasing  efforts  of  that  girl  to  get  permission 
to  see  the  Elusive  One.  I  've  advised  your  friend " — 
Singleton's  laugh  came  metallic  along  the  wire — "to  ask 
you  to  get  her  the  permit." 


THE  MESSENGER  399 

"  She  knows  better,"  retorted  Napier.  Something 
seemed  to  go  wrong  with  the  line  after  that.  He  did  n't 
get  Singleton  again.  Singleton  was  greatly  occupied  about 
that  time. 

As  a  special,  indeed  an  unprecedented,  concession,  a  per 
mit  was  ultimately  obtained  for  an  unnamed  lady  to  pay  a 
visit  to  a  person  designated  only  by  the  Number  96  in  a 
metropolitan  prison. 

Singleton  did  n't  show  Miss  Ellis  the  permit  until  he  had 
talked  to  her  for  some  minutes  about  the  superhuman  diffi 
culties  that  had  to  be  surmounted  before  he  had  been  able 
to  get  their  request  so  much  as  listened  to.  He  had  sworn 
not  to  yield  up  the  all-powerful  piece  of  paper  without 
exacting  a  pledge  from  Miss  Ellis.  She  was  to  promise  on 
her  word  of  honor  that  she  would  n't  let  the  Schwarzenberg 
know  who  had  moved  in  the  matter.  This  was  of  an  im 
portance  he  could  not  explain  to  her,  but  it  was  "the 
condition." 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

WHERE  are  we  now?"  Miss  Ellis  peered  through 
the  blurred  window  of  the  taxi. 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  part  you  don't  know.  You  have  n't  an 
idea,"  Singleton  began  again,  "  what  a  triumph  it  is  —  this 
permit.  Nobody  believed  it  could  be  brought  off.  And 
you  are  to  see  her  alone !  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  "  He 
sat  back  in  the  car  and  looked  at  Miss  Ellis. 

"  Is  it  so  unusual  ?  " 

"Unusual!  Bless  my  soul,  it's  unheard  of!  The 
rule  is,  either  you  stand  outside  a  grille  and  talk  through 
bars,  or  you  sit  with  a  table  between  you  and  the  pr  —  the 
person  you  've  come  to  see.  The  warder,  or  in  this  case  it 
would  be  the  wardress,  stands  there,  two  feet  away,  hearing 
every  word  you  say  and  watching  your  hands  to  see  that 
nothing 's  smuggled." 

"  They  behave  like  that  to  prisoners  in  the  first  class  ?  " 

"  If  a  prisoner  is  dangerous,  she  has  to  be  watched,  what 
ever  class  she 's  in.  As  a  rule." 

"  I  see.     In  this  case  they  trust  to  our  honor." 

Singleton  hesitated. 

"A  —  yes.  It '11  be  an  immense  relief  to  her  to  have 
some  one  she  can  talk  to  freely.  I  would  n't  be  surprised 
—  you  see,  she  's  bottled  herself  up  so  long  —  I  would  n't 
be  surprised  if  she  took  you  more  into  her  confidence  than 
ever  she  's  done  yet.  I  'd  be  careful  if  I  were  you,"  he  said 

400 


THE  MESSENGER  401 

with  unusual  earnestness,  "  very  careful  not  to  discourage 
that  confidence." 

"  I  don't  think  it  the  least  likely  she  '11  take  me  into  her 
confidence,"  the  girl  returned  on  a  note  of  regret,  not 
daring  to  admit  the  thrill  that  ran  through  her  at  thought 
of  being  the  chosen  confidante  of  a  prisoner  —  a  Prisoner 
of  the  First  Class,  above  all,  of  the  erring,  the  wonderful 
Greta.  Nan  was  the  freer  to  speculate  about  her  now  that 
the  pain  of  cutting  the  woman  out  of  her  heart  was  eased. 
To  serve  one  who  had  been  her  friend  would  satisfy  every 
canon.  If  it  satisfied  a  hitherto  unquenehed  curiosity  as 
well  — 

1  "  You  could  n't  make  a  greater  mistake,"  Singleton  was 
saying  with  that  new  earnestness  of  his,  "  than  to  discour 
age  any  confidence. 

"  Oh,  I  would  n't,  not  for  the  world  I  would  n't  discour 
age  her." 

" Do  the  other  thing"  he  said  impressively  in  her  ear  as 
the  car  stopped. 

"  Are  we  there  ?  "     Nan  started  up  in  excitement. 

"  Wait  a  moment."  He  let  down  the  window  and  put 
his  head  out  to  speak  to  the  driver.  The  car  turned  in  the 
gray  light  and  went  on  a  few  yards. 

"  Tell  her  you  '11  take  any  message  to  her  friends,"  Sin 
gleton  suggested  to  the  girl  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Her  friends  ?  " 

He  was  staring  out  at  glimpses  of  stone  wall.        I  should 
say  "—  he  spoke  in  his  most  detached  manner  — "  I  should 
say,  you  'd  have  a  rather  interesting  half-hour,  particularly 
if  you  let  her  unburden  her  soul  on  the  subject  of  her- 
allies." 


402  THE  MESSENGER 

The  car  stopped.  Singleton  got  out,  and  rang  a  bell. 
The  car  was  drawn  up  close  against  a  massive  gray  wall. 
Just  beyond  was  a  great  iron-studded  door.  In  a  moment 
it  opened.  A  man  stood  there  who  looked  to  the  irreverent 
eye  like  the  jailer  in  a  comic  opera  —  a  big,  saturnine  man 
with  an  enlarged  waist  (or  an  enlargement  where  his  waist 
might  have  been),  and  round  this  great  girth  of  his  a  broad 
belt  with  the  largest  keys  hanging  to  it  Nan  had  ever  seen 
out  of  a  pantomime.  She  asked  afterward  if  they  were  real 
keys.  She  thought  that,  like  the  halberds  of  the  Beef 
eaters,  they  must  be  symbolic,  "  just  to  impress  on  people 
the  degree  of  the  locked-upness  they  'd  got  to  expect  here." 
As  to  the  jailer  himself,  he,  like  his  keys,  was  "  too  good 
to  be  true."  He  was  n't  only  like  an  actor.  His  forbid 
ding  manner,  his  black-avised  scowl,  and  gruff  voice,  had 
for  the  eyes  at  the  car  window  exactly  the  same  air  of  un 
reality  as  the  keys.  To  Singleton's  horror,  she  confided 
presently  that  it  was  all  she  could  do  not  to  applaud  and 
call  out  of  the  window,  "  Is  n't  he  doing  it  well !  "  with  the 
mental  reservation  that  really  he  was  overdoing  it. 

The  basso  profundo  with  the  keys  stood  frowning  at  the 
paper  Singleton  had  presented. 

"  Is  she  here  ?  "  demanded  the  jailer. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  'm  here."  Nan  nodded  and  beckoned  at  him 
out  of  the  window.  He  gave  her  a  yet  more  frightful 
scowl,  and  she  nearly  burst  out  laughing  as  Singleton,  in 
the  act  of  helping  her  out,  saw,  to  his  consternation. 

The  scowling  giant  showed  them  into  a  bare  little  room 
with  an  open  fire  and  a  chair  in  front  of  a  table,  where  a 
big  book  like  a  ledger  lay  open.  Between  table  and  fire 


THE  MESSENGEK  403 

was  a  telephone ;  all  round  the  walls  were  benches ;  nothing 
else. 

The  basso  profundo  left  them  there  in  front  of  the  fire. 
A  warder  passed  the  door  with  a  man  in  prison  clothes  who 
was  carrying  a  bucket.  The  warder  spoke  to  the  man. 
What  he  said  was  not  intelligible,  but  the  quality  of  voice 
struck  the  light-minded  smile  from  Nan  Ellis's  face. 

"  How  he  spoke !  " 

Singleton  said  he  didn't  notice  anything  unusual,  but 
he  was  rather  relieved  that  she  had  stopped  smiling.  When 
the  head  jailer  came  back,  he  had  a  wardress  in  tow.  The 
jailer  did  n't  speak,  did  n't  even  look  at  the  two  waiting. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  woman,  and  led  Miss  Ellis  briskly 
down  a  long  stone  corridor.  Another  wardress  stood  by  a 
door  slightly  ajar. 

"  Be  quick,"  she  said  to  some  one  inside.  "  I  can't  wait 
here  all  day." 

"  She  speaks  just  as  the  warder  spoke  to  the  man  with 
the  bucket,"  Nan  thought.  "  Does  anybody  speak  like  that 
to  Greta  ?  "  They  would  n't  do  it  twice,  she  decided,  even 
before  the  reconciling  phrase  "First-class  Prisoner"  re- 
currred  to  her.  She  imagined  Greta  turning  these  wooden 
women  into  human  beings  with  a  lash  of  her  tongue. 

Going  up  the  skeleton  stairs  Nan  broke  the  echoing  si 
lence.  "Does  Miss  —  the  lady  know  I'm  coming?"  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Stolidly  pursuing  her  way,  the  wardress  looked  straight 
in  front  of  her  for  so  long,  Nan  thought,  as  she  told  Napier 
afterward,  that  the  woman  was  n't  going  to  speak  at  all. 
But  when  she  had  sufficiently  marked  the  fact  that  she 


404  THE  MESSENGER 

^  was  n't  there  to  answer  questions  she  said,  with  that  same 
liard  tonelessness,  "  I  don't  know  who  'd  tell  her." 
Through  more  corridors  they  passed  till  the  wardress 
stopped  just  short  of  an  open  door  and  rang  a  bell. 
A  younger  woman  of  the  same  type  came  round  a 
corner. 

"  Tell  ninety-six  she 's  to  come  down,"  Nan's  guide 
called  out,  but  she  went  to  meet  the  other  wardress,  and 
the  two  stood  talking  a  moment.  They  seemed  to  resent 
the  visitor's  inquiring  eyes.  "  That 's  where  you  go,"  said 
the  older  one  over  her  shoulder.  Nan  found,  to  her  sur 
prise,  that  the  direction  was  addressed  to  her,  with  a  curt 
motion  of  the  head  toward  the  open  door.  As  she  entered, 
the  door  closed  behind  her.  Nan's  heart  began  to  thump. 
"  What  if  they  take  me  for  a  prisoner,  and  no  one  comes  to 
put  them  right ! "  she  thought.  Her  spirits  had  been 
steadily  sinking  ever  since  she  heard  the  warder  speaking  to 
the  prisoner  with  the  bucket.  Mr.  Singleton  had  been 
wrong.  Even  for  a  prisoner  of  the  first  class  this  was  a 
terrifying  place.  She  remembered  something  she  had  read 
once  that  a  captive  in  the  Tower  had  said  centuries  ago, 
"  'T  is  not  the  confined  air ;  't  is  the  Apprehension  of  the 
place."  It  was  just  that.  The  atmosphere  was  thick, 
choking  with  apprehension.  How  long  "  96  "  was  in  com 
ing  down!  On  reflection,  it  was  almost  consoling  that 
after  that  rough  message  Greta  should  take  her  time.  Nan 
rested  on  the  confident  faith  that,  when  Greta  came,  the 
Apprehension  would  lessen,  if  not  vanish  altogether,  van 
ishing  before  that  dauntless  step. 

This  room  was  even  barer  than  the  other :  no  fire,  no  open 
book,  no  telephone;  only  a  long,  narrow  table  down  the 


THE  MESSEXGEK  405 

middle,  several  stout  wooden  chairs,  a  window  heavily 
barred,  nothing  else.  Sounds  outside  came  muffled,  and 
the  more  charged  with  Apprehension  for  that.  What  was 
happening  ? 

The  door  opened.  A  glimpse  of  the  tall  wardress  shut 
ting  herself  out  and  shutting  in  a  squat  figure  clad  in 
shapeless  gray  serge  garments  and  a  foolish  cap. 

Greta?     That? 

The  girl  held  her  breath,  held  all  her  being  back  from 
admitting  that  the  apparition  by  the  door  could  be  —  For 
it  was  n't  the  disfiguring  dress  alone  or  chiefly,  that  in  the 
first  instant  had  paralyzed  the  visitor's  tongue  and  rooted 
her  where  she  stood.  Greta,  yes.  And  they  had  clothed 
her  body  with  ridicule.  But  what  had  they  done  to  her 
spirit?  There  was  a  horror  about  the  change  that  over 
topped  pity,  for  that  awful  first  moment,  while  Greta 
stood,  grotesque,  dreadful,  not  so  much  looking  at  the  girl 
as  looking  through  her,  looking  out  of  eyes  too  haunted  by 
other  shapes  to  take  in  an  apparition  so  insignificant  as 
Xan  Ellis.  Even  when  Xan  was  able  to  move  forward, 
"  0,  Greta!"  was  all  she  could  say,  but  she  held  out  her 
two  hands. 

The  changed  woman  had  n't  even  one  to  offer. 

"  What  have  you  come  for  ?  "  she  said  in  a  queer  voice. 

"  Why,  to  —  to  see  you." 

"  To  see  what  I  look  like.     Well,  you  see." 

"  0  Greta  !  "  The  girl  shrank  as  if  the  other  woman  had 
struck  her.  After  a  quivering  moment  she  added,  "  I  came 
to  ask  if  I  can  do  anything." 

"Who  sent  you?" 

Xan  knew  now  what  was  the  matter  with  the  voice:  it 


406  THE  MESSENGEE 

was  purged  of  personality.  Greta  spoke  like  the  ward 
resses,  in  a  tone  out  of  which  all  modulation  had  gone. 

"  Nobody  sent  me/'  said  Nan. 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Greta,  you  're  wrong  if  you  think  — 
nobody  wanted  me  to  come.  I  've  had  to  move  heaven  and 
earth,  I  had  to  beg  and  beg  — " 

"Beg  who?" 

"  Why,  beg  — I  no,  I  was  n't  to  say  that.  It  does  n't  mat 
ter  now.  But  it 's  been  more  difficult  than  you  can  think. 
I  gave  them  no  peace.  I  had  to  see  you." 

"Why?" 

Nan  felt  guiltily  that  Greta  had  guessed  that  part  of  the 
answer  was  because  of  a  consuming  curiosity.  What  Greta 
would  n't,  could  n't,  know  was  the  pain  and  compassion  that 
swept  the  girl  after  her  first  moment  of  recoil. 

"  Why  ?  "  Nan  repeated.  "  Because  of  —  what  used  to 
be."  Greta  seemed  not  to  hear.  The  girl  was  so  aware  of 
this  that  she  raised  her  voice  a  little  and  spoke  with  de 
liberate  distinctness.  "  I  did  n't  know  if  you  had  any  one 
you  could  depend  on." 

"  You  do  know.     I  was  fool  enough  to  tell  you." 

"  Only  Ernst !  " 

The  fierce  instinctive  warning  in  Greta's  face  against 
utterance  of  that  name,  changed  to  contempt: 

"  But  they  '11  have  got  that  out  of  you  before  you  came 
here.  Much  good  it  will  do  them."  And  then  she  found 
the  strangest  ground  for  triumph.  "  He  can  take  care  of 
himself.  They  learned  that  at  Liverpool.  And  because  he 
can  take  care  of  himself  he  can  take  care  of  me.  If  only  " 
—  her  voice  fell  huskily  — 


THE  MESSENGEK  407 

"If  what!"  The  girl's  self-possession  broke.  "Oh, 
you  are  living  on  the  wildest  hopes !  You  must  in  a  place 
like  this.  I  can  see  it 's  terrible  to  you  to  be  here !  But 
how  terrible  is  it  ?  "  In  the  silence  she  collected  herself. 
"  No,  you  may  n't  want  me  to  know  that.  Tell  me  only 
what  can  be  done." 

Greta  walked  to  the  window,  a  strange  shambling  gait. 
She  looked  out  and  then  turned  round,  but  not  to  face  Nan. 
The  strained  eyes  went  carefully  all  around  the  room.  As 
she  turned  sidewise,  the  gray  light  fell  more  merciless  on 
the  ravaged  face,  above  all  on  that  patch  of  discoloration 
under  each  eye;  no  mere  violet  shadow  such  as  Nan  had 
seen  on  the  faces  of  the  sleepless  or  the  sick.  This  was  as 
if  a  muddy  thumb  had  set  a  deliberate  smudge  under  each 
eye,  and  as  if  the  printing  of  that  broad,  brown  stain  had 
been  done  with  so  ruthless  a  pressure  that  it  had  forced  in 
the  lower  arc  of  the  socket.  The  eyes  made  careful  circuit 
of  the  room.  They  inspected  the  ceiling.  They  scoured 
the  floor.  Then  Greta  bent  down  and  looked  at  the  under 
side  of  the  table-top.  She  looked  with  absorbed  attention 
at  the  chair  before  she  sat  down  in  it  —  all  signs  of  mental 
aberration  in  the  sight  of  the  speechless  girl,  just  as  was 
the  loud,  toneless  voice  in  which  Greta  said : 

"  I  suppose  they  ?ve  sent  you  to  get  out  of  me  what 
they  've  failed  to  get." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"Greta!  Greta!"— the  girl  dropped  into  the  chair 
opposite  and  leaned  across  the  table,—"  if  I  can  put  away 
hard  feeling  and  suspicion,  can't  you?  I  don't  ask  you  to 
be  friends  outside  this  place.  I  don't  want  that  any  more. 


408  THE  MESSENGER 

But  can't  you  for  this  little  time  we  have  here  together  just 
let  me  help  you  if  I  can  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  help  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  for  me  to  propose  how.  I  don't  know  what 
you  need." 

Again  those  eyes  made  circuit  of  the  room. 

"  What  I  need  ?  "  the  hoarse  voice  repeated.  So  humped 
her  figure  was  that  it  gave  her  an  air  of  crouching  in  the 
chair.  The  quick  turning  of  the  head  (all  the  rest  of  the 
body  rigid),  to  look  first  over  one  shoulder,  then  over  the 
other,  had  in  it,  taken  with  the  crouching  attitude,  some 
thing  animal-like.  But  the  intensity  of  that  listening  was 
not  given  to  the  voices  in  the  corridor.  Those  voices 
seemed  rather  to  reassure,  almost  to  soothe;  for  as  they 
sounded  nearer,  she  repeated  quietly,  "  What  I  need  ?  " 
Moreover,  she  looked  at  Nan  as  if  she  really  saw  her,  as  if 
she  remembered  who  she  was.  "I  sha'n't  need  anything 
long." 

In  the  eyes  bent  on  her  across  the  table  tears  sprang  up. 
"  Are  you  so  ill,  Greta  ?  " 

The  woman  made  no  answer.  She  was  listening  again. 
It  seemed  to  be  the  silence  that  spoke  to  her,  not  voices. 

"  That 's  one  of  the  things  I  thought  of,"  the  girl  went 
on.  "  I  might  get  them  to  let  me  bring  a  doctor." 

"  It  would  be  a  great  doctor  who  should  cure  my  ill !  " 

The  words  were  despairing  enough  and  spoken  faintly, 
but  that  touch  of  the  old  theatricalism  was  so  much  more 
natural  than  the  hoarse,  uncadenced  speech  alternating 
with  the  insane  listening  to  nothing  at  all,  that  Nan  took 
heart.  "  May  I  say  you  are  ill  ?  May  I  try  — " 

Greta  shook  her  head. 


THE  MESSENGER  409 

"  What 's  the  use  ?  I  've  always  known  I  should  n't  live 
long.  We  don't." 

For  a  moment  Nan  could  n't  speak.  As  to  Greta,  what 
ever  she  had  come  through,  whatever  she  was  going  toward, 
she  had  n't  got  beyond  enjoyment  of  tearing  at  another's 
heart-strings  on  the  way. 

"  You  must  n't  say,  must  n't  think,  you  are  n't  going  to 
live !  You  must  remember  — "  Nan  longed  and  did  n't 
dare  to  quote  the  precedent  of  the  old  father  in  the  Berlin 
brewery,  still  watchman  of  the  night,  as  Singleton  had  told 
her.  She  was  the  more  glad  she  had  n't  ventured  to  speak 
of  him  when  she  presently  found  that  Greta's  "  we  "  linked 
her  to  no  blood  kin.  She  had  sunk  down  farther  in  the 
chair,  a  huddle  of  coarse  serge  and  misery,  and  her  hands 
slipped  off  her  lap  and  hung  at  her  sides. 

"  The  strain  is  too  great,"  she  said  under  her  breath, 
speaking  the  truth  at  last. 

The  strain  was  too  great.  It  had  broken  the  Greta  of 
old  days.  And  just  as,  after  the  wreck  of  some  great  liner, 
only  trifles  are  left  floating  over  the  grave  of  the  Titan, 
so  the  woman's  surface  theatricalism  survived  the  loss  of 
more  considerable  things. 

"With  people  like  us,  our  hand  is  against  every  man," 
she  declaimed  in  a  husky  voice,  "  and  every  man's  hand  is 
against  us." 

"  That 's  not  true.     My  hand  is  n't  against  you." 

"  We  shall  see." 

"  Indeed  we  shall ! " 

Greta  had  made  an  effort  to  pull  herself  up  and  face  the 
girl  more  squarely,  as  though  that  call  to  "  see  "  had  im 
posed  some  change  in  the  focus  of  vigilance. 


410  THE  MESSENGER 

This  was  not  the  visit  she  had  been  expecting.  It  had 
taken  her  unaware.  With  a  new  self-distrust,  an  unwonted 
slowness,  she  was  collecting  her  wits  and  her  physical 
forces,  without  for  an  instant  losing  sight  either  of  the 
obvious  danger  or  the  possible  unique  opportunity  pre 
sented  by  Nan's  coming.  To  seize  the  occasion  to  recover 
some  of  her  hold  over  the  girl  —  that  could  endanger  noth 
ing.  It  might  even  serve. 

"  If  you  must  believe,"  Nan  was  saying,  "  that  my  hand 
is  against  you," — barb-like,  the  phrase  had  stuck,  quiver 
ing, — "  you  need  n't  think  everybody's  hand  is." 

"  With  the  exception  of  that  one,  whose  is  n't  ?  " 

The  question  was  awkward. 

"Well,  there  are  your  friends."  She  waited  while 
Greta's  eyes  arraigned  her  fiercely.  "  And  there  are  the 
people  who,  from  their  point  of  view,  owe  you  so  much." 

"  You  mean  —        Greta  waited  warily. 

"  Those  who  set  you  on.  The  people  you  've  run  such 
awful  risks  for." 

"  Oh,  the  powers  in  Germany !  They  '11  trouble  them 
selves  about  me !  "  Her  ghost  of  a  laugh  was  more  horrible 
than  cursing.  Some  of  the  dullness  went  out  of  Greta's 
eyes  for  a  moment  at  sight  of  the  impression  she  was 
making  on  the  girl.  "  You  think,  if  we  make  a  single  mis 
step,  e  They '  spare  us  ?  "  The  slack  hands  came  up  and 
met  in  a  hard  grip  on  the  bare  table-top.  "  They  set  us 
superhuman  tasks  in  the  midst  of  strangers.  A  woman, 
set  to  play  a  lone  hand  against  overwhelming  odds,  day  in, 
day  out.  No  let  up.  One  false  move," — the  locked  fin 
gers  parted,  the  hands  were  lifted  a  few  inches,  and  fell 


THE  MESSENGER  411 

heavily  on  the  board, — "you  are  first  suspect.  Then  you 
lose  your  liberty.  Then  you  lose  your  life." 

"  No !  no !  "  The  fascination  of  horror  that  had  held  the 
girl  broke  before  that  evocation  of  the  final  doom.  "  You 
must  n't  be  afraid  of  that !  You  must  n't  — " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it?  " 

"  I  am  sure,  I  am  sure  — " 

She  ought  to  have  been  satisfied  with  the  degree  to  which 
she  had  wrought  upon  the  girl.  But  that  was  n't  Greta's 
way.  It  did  n't  suit  her  that  any  knowledge  of  intended 
clemency  should  dull  the  poignancy  of  Nan's  compassion. 

"  You  think  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  lose  my  life  Jiere !  Pf ui !  " 
She  forced  out  breath  too  contemptuous  to  lend  itself  to 
word  in  that  first  emission.  "  It  is  n't  my  life  these  crea 
tures  want.  I  'm  no  good  to  them  dead.  I  'm  no  good  to 
them  alive  if  they  had  the  sense  to  see."  She  flung  it  to 
the  wall  over  Nan's  head. 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  you  've  relieved  me !  Greta ! 
Greta!  I  wouldn't  let  myself  be  afraid  of  the  worst. 
And  yet,  deep  down, —  since  I  came  into  this  room  —  I 
have  been  afraid.  Thank  you,  Greta,  for  taking  that  hor 
ror  off  my  mind." 

It  was  n't  at  all  what  Greta  had  intended.  She  looked 
at  the  girl. 

"  A  person  like  me,"  she  said,  with  an  effort  at  that  high 
air  of  old, —  oh,  the  piteous  travesty !  — "  a  person  like  me, 
who  is  supposed  to  know  too  much,  if  she  does  n't  pay  with 
her  life  —  it  is  n't  always  the  fault  of  the  people  she  works 
for." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  Nan  breathed. 


412  THE  MESSENGER 

"  Probably  not.  We  ourselves  don't  '  understand '  till 
it 's  too  late.  What  idea  had  I,  when  I  began,  that  every 
hour  of  my  life  I  should  be  saying :  *  Is  it  to-day  ?  Will 
it  be  to-morrow  I  shall  go  under  ? '  We  mostly  do  go 
under  when  we  've  served  our  turn." 

There  was  the  ghost  of  the  old  satisfaction  in  the  marred 
face  as  she  read  in  the  young  one  how  well  the  old  trick 
worked.  "  Be  very  sure  it  is  n't  our  enemies  we  fear  most. 
It 's  those  you  call  our  friends." 

"  You  can't  " — Nan  gasped  — "  you  can't  mean  the  Ger 
man  authorities  who  —  ask  to  have  these  things  done  ?  " 

"  Oh,  can't  I  ?  "  She  positively  revived  before  her  mani 
fest  success.  "  One  of  my  own  friends  was  let  in  for  an 
English  prison  by  a  German  agent  acting  under  orders 
from  the  Wilhelmstrasse.  My  friend  has  n't  come  out. 
He  never  will  come  out.  Two  others  I  knew,  one  a  woman, 
made  the  mistake  of  knowing  too  much,  and  paid  the  pen- 
alty." 

"  The  penalty !  "  whispered  the  other. 

"  They  " — Greta  stared  in  front  of  her  — "  they  disap 
peared."  Her  fixed  eyes  moved.  They  came  back  to  Nan. 
"  You  imagine  my  friends  were  set  against  a  prison  wall 
and  had  their  account  settled  by  an  English  firing  squad  ? 
Oh,  no  !  We  in  the  service  "-  —  with  the  old  arrogance  she 
threw  back  her  head,  crowned  by  the  horrible  cap  — "  we 
know  we  have  no  such  need  to  fear  any  foreign  power  as 
we  have  to  fear  our  own." 

Nan  failed  lamentably  to  respond  to  this  form  of  pro 
fessional  pride.  "  It 's  a  ghastly  trade." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  Greta 
said  harshly.  "  The  best  brains  in  Europe  are  at  this 


THE  MESSENGER  413 

work.     Ask  your  friends  of  the  British  secret  service." 

"  There  's  a  difference  between  the  secret  service  and  spy 
ing." 

"  Oh,  is  there !  Then  it  would  take  a  Jesuit  to  find  out 
and  a  fool  to  believe.  We  are  all  in  the  same  business.  Only 
the  other  nations  play  at  it,  and  we  work.  No  questions 
with  us,  no  limits.  You  others,  yes,  all  of  you," — she 
flung  it  out, — "you  paddle.  We?  We're  up  to  the 
eyes !  "  Her  own,  marred  and  mud-stained,  were  lifted  to 
the  opposite  wall.  "  We  're  over  the  eyes ! "  she  tri 
umphed.  "  We  hold  our  breath  down  there  under  the  sur 
face  till  we  crack  our  lungs.  And  smug  people  judge  us ! 
People  who  have  never  done  even  a  safe  thing  to  serve 
their  country  —  they  judge  us  —  who  face  death  hour  by 
hour ! » 

"  You  don't,  Greta,  anyway."  Nan  Ellis  had  her  pride, 
as  it  seemed,  though  its  roots  were  deeper  than  nationality. 
"  Lucky  for  you,  you  're  in  England !  " 

"  England !  "  Her  face  as  she  turned  it  away  was  hide 
ous  with  hatred. 

Nan  stood  up.  "  Though  you  refuse  to  be,  I  at  least  can 
be  glad  that  in  England  they  don't  — " 

"Oh,  don't  they!"  She  clutched  at  the  edge  of  the 
table  and  leaned  across  it.  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  the  English 
don't  do.  They  don't  talk  about  what  they  do"  As  Nan 
opened  her  lips,  the  other  raised  her  voice  to  the  level  of  a 
hoarse  scream.  "But  there's  a  thing  they  don't  under 
stand  —  your  friends  the  English.  They  imagine  they  can 
wear  us  out.  Hein?"  Again  she  addressed  an  invisible 
audience,  still  believing,  as  Nan  thought,  that  she  was  un 
der  the  ceaseless  observation  that  had  turned  her  wits. 


"  ' 


414  THE  MESSENGER 

"These  English!  They  think  they  can  force  a  German 
woman  to  sell  her  friends,  to  give  away  her  country!  A 
German  !  I  tell  you  "  —  she  staggered  to  her  feet  —  "  these 
devils  can  go  on  as  long  as  ever  they  like.  I  don't  know 
why  they  stopped  —  " 

"  Stopped  ?     Stopped  what  ?  " 

"  Torturing  me,"  she  said,  gutturaling  the  r's  till  they 
sounded  like  the  tearing  of  a  fabric.  "  '  Who  is  my  friend 
in  the  War  Office  ?  '  '  The  words  acted  on  her  swifter  than 
poison,  more  like  the  twist  of  a  knife  in  a  wound.  She 
opened  her  mouth  and  gasped  for  air.  When  it  came  she 
cast  it  back  in  a  cry  that  was  n't  human. 

shrank  against  the  wall.  A  bell  clanged. 
The  name  of  the  man  in  the  War  Office.'  Forty  times 
he  asked  me  that,  that  devil  they  sent  to  tor-r-tur-re  me." 
She  was  speaking  too  rapidly  to  swallow;  the  saliva  gath 
ered  in  bubbles  at  the  corners  of  her  lips.  "  Every  sort  of 
question  !  Every  sort  of  trap  !  Insinuating  ;  gentle  ; 
quick,  sharp  as  pistol-shots.  Over  and  over  and  over  and 
over,  till  you  long  to  die.  Then  at  last,  when  he  's  worn 
put,—  not  I  !  not  I  !  "  —  she  cried  to  the  walls,  —  "  then  I  'm 
led  away,  back  to  my  punishment  cell,"  —  she  staggered 
and  caught  blindly  at  the  chair  back  —  "  and  the  board  bed 
is  soft  as  a  cloud  in  paradise.  Two  minutes.  The  ward 
ress  !  '  Come,  they  want  you.'  I  'm  taken  back.  '  The 
name  of  your  friend  in  the  War  Office?'  and  da  capo. 
You  see  the  plan?  Hein?  The  devils  in  hell  must  envy 
the  inventor  of  that  Third  Degree." 

•.:  The  thing  itself  comes  out  of  the  Dark  Ages,  but  the 
phrase  ,  was  framed  in  America.  Nan  had  heard  it  be 
fore.  .  This  method  of  procedure  was  contrary,  perhaps  is 


"The  name  of  the  man  in  the  War  Office!" 


THE  MESSENGEK  415 

still  contrary,  to  English  law;  but  there  was  no  more  doubt 
that  Greta  von  Schwarzenberg  had  been  subjected  to  the 
Third  Degree  than  there  was  doubt  of  its  fearful  effect. 

"  Surely  they  know  it 's  possbile  not  to  answer,"  the  girl 
said,  bewildered. 

"Oh,  they  know!"  Greta  had  fallen  back  into  that 
hoarse  whisper.  "  It  is  n't  in  nature  not  to  answer  some 
things  —  to  answer  something  that  sounds  innocent;  that 
gives  you  a  rest;  or  to  answer  something  dastardly. 
Taunts  —  God !  the  things  they  say !  Oh,  you  'd  answer 
some  of  them  as  long  as  you  could  keep  your  wits  and  wag 
your  tongue ;  and  then  — "  She  beckoned.  Nan  came  to 
her  round  the  table.  Greta  seized  her  by  the  shoulders, 
and  with  so  fierce  a  grip  the  girl,  in  a  new  access  of  horror, 
tried  to  draw  back.  Those  big,  square  fingers  held  like  a 
vise.  Greta  bent  her  trembling,  froth-flecked  lips  to  the 
girl's  ear.  "  They  don't  let  you  sleep.  That 's  what  does 
it  —  if  anything  will."  She  did  not  so  much  let  go  her 
hold  as  fling  Nan  from  her  as  she  raised  her  voice  to  its 
highest  pitch.  "  Not  even  that  is  going  to  make  Greta 
von  Schwarzenberg  a  tool  of  the  English.  Never ! "  she 
flung  to  the  right  wall.  "Never!"  she  screamed  to  the 
left.  "Never!"  She  choked  suddenly,  fell  sidewise 
against  the  chair,  and  dropped  heavily  to  the  floor. 

Nan  ran  forward  with  a  cry.  The  door  opened,  and  a 
couple  of  wardresses  rushed  in. 

As  they  raised  Greta  up,  she  pointed  down  the  corridor. 
"  Ha !  you  see  ?  You  see  ?  "  The  backs  of  two  men  were 
disappearing  in  the  distance. 

"  You  have  failed  again ! "  Greta  shouted  after  them. 
"Always  you'll  fail!" 


The  wardresses  quickly  had  her  on  her  feet.  They  han 
dled  her  with  a  respect  so  scant  that  Nan  broke  in: 

"  Let  me,  please !     Oh,  gently !  " 

"  She  '11  show  you  the  way  out."  The  tall  wardress 
nodded  curtly  at  the  other. 

Greta  shot  out  a  hand  and  clutched  Nan's  sleeve.  "  You 
wanted  to  help  me  ?  Then  find  a  way  to  see  him.  Say  as 
long  as  it 's  for  him,  nothing  can  break  me." 

"  I  'm  going  to  get  them  to  send  you  a  doctor/'  the  girl 
cried. 

"  Come."  The  tall  wardress  seized  the  disheveled  figure 
by  the  other  arm. 

Greta  seemed  not  to  know  the  horrible  cap  was  falling 
off.  "  I  'd  rather  have  you,  after  all,  than  any  doctor." 
She  still  maintained  that  fierce  hold  on  Nan.  "  Specially 
now  that  I  know  you  're  as  " —  that  laugh !  — "  as  silly  as 
ever.  Oh,  why  could  n't  I  be  selig,  too !  "  Her  drooping 
lips  quivered.  She  fell  to  feeble  crying.  "I  wanted  the 
good  things.  More  than  any  one  in  this  world  I  wanted  — 
since  I  was  little  I  've  wanted  to  get  away  from  ugliness 
and  evil.  I  wanted  to  be  a  lady.  Ai!"  she  shrieked. 
"  Damn  you !  " 

The  younger  wardress  had  slipped  round  behind  the 
others.  She  had  thrust  a  hand  in  between  Nan  and 
Greta  and  loosened  the  prisoner's  hold  by  some  sly  use  of 
pain. 

Greta  turned  on  the  woman. 

"  Damn  you !  you  — "  words  from  which  Nan  fled  shud 
dering  along  the  corridor,  a  wardress  at  her  heels. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

SINGLETON  had  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  on  the 
case.  He  staked  much  on  that  meeting  between  the 
two  women.  In  his  disgust  and  rage  at  the  Schwarzen- 
berg's  self-control  under  all  her  surface  emotionalism,  her 
shrewd  conviction  that  the  interview  did  not  lack  auditors, 
spoiled  all  his  plans. 

He  had  as  good  as  pledged  himself.  "  Shut  those  two 
up  in  an  empty  room/'  he  had  said  to  the  chief,  "and 
you  've  only  to  turn  on  the  tap." 

And  behold  Greta,  with  a  watch  set  on  that  tongue  of 
hers,  talking  tosh,  and  entirely  content  to  work  on  the 
feelings  of  that  little  fool ! 

"  She  is  delirious ! "  Nan  caught  up  with  Singleton 
and  a  strange  gentleman  in  the  lower  corridor.  The 
strange  gentleman  hurried*  on  and  was  lost  to  sight.  She 
was  too  excited  at  the  moment  to  wonder  how  Singleton 
happened  to  be  in  the  corridor  or  to  notice  his  black  looks. 
Breathing  quick  and  hard,  she  said,  "  Greta  is  delirious !  " 

"  Oh,  is  she  ?  "  She  elicited  no  more  till  they  were  get 
ting  into  the  car.  Nan  asked  Singleton  to  tell  the  chauf 
feur  to  drive  to  Whitehall. 

"  Whitehall  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  the  Intelligence  Office." 
417 


418  THE  MESSENGER 

"  What  for,  in  the  name  of  — " 

"  We  must  get  her  a  doctor." 

"  They  have  a  doctor  here." 

"  Not  a  proper  doctor.  You  ought  to  see  the  condition 
she 's  in.  We  must  go  to  your  chief  and  get  him  to 
allow—" 

When  he  'd  spoken  to  the  chauffeur,  he  followed  her  into 
the  car,  slammed  the  door,  and  relapsed  into  moody  silence. 

Above  the  profoundly  stirred  deeps  a  trifle  rose  to  the 
surface. 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  "  prisoners  of  the  first  class  could 
wear  their  own  clothes." 

"Well?" 

"  Miss  von  Schwarzenberg  was  in  prison  clothes." 

"  Then  it 's  her  own  fault.     She  started  first  class." 

"  How  could  it  be  her  own  fault  ?  You  don't  think  she 
would  choose  to  wear  such  — " 

"  She  chooses  to  give  trouble."  Singleton  relapsed 
again  into  silence. 

What  had  happened  to  Mr.  Singleton  after  she  left  him  ? 
It  struck  her  from  time  to  time  that  the  man,  who  had  been 
so  sympathetic  —  nearly  as  keen  for  the  meeting  as  Nan 
herself,  once  his  objection  had  been  overcome  —  seemed  to 
take  strangely  little  interest  in  the  issue.  This  knowledge 
marred  and  certainly  shortened  the  account  she  gave  him. 
She  found  herself  dwelling  mainly  on  what  Greta  had  told 
her  about  the  third  degree.  Singleton's  silence  got  on 
her  nerves. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  their  not  letting  her  sleep  ?  "  She 
waited  to  hear  him  deny  the  charge.  "You  don't  think 
they  '11  ever  try  that  again  ?  " 


THE  MESSENGER  419 

"  She  'd  much  better  have  talked  freely  to  you."  It 
was  n't  the  coldness  of  the  reply  that  struck  the  girl  so 
much  as  the  latent  menace  in  it. 

"  Why  should  you  have  wanted  her  to  say  more  ?  " 

"  Well,  did  n't  you  ?    I  thought  you  were  for  the  Allies." 

"  So  I  am." 

"  After  my  persuading  the  chief  it  was  better  to  let 
you  do  the  job  unconsciously,  then  you  go  and  " —  with  a 
gulp  of  bitterness  Singleton  swallowed  his  too  unflattering 
opinion  of  what,  precisely,  Miss  Ellis  had  gone  and  done. 
Only  one  count  in  the  long  indictment  slipped  out :  "  To 
forget  even  to  press  the  question  of  the  friend  in  the  War 
Office  when  Schwarzenberg  had  broached  it  herself  —  to 
let  slip  a  chance  like  that !  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  let  it  slip  ?  "  came  from  the  dark 
corner. 

"  Well,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  n't  told  you  so."  There  was  a  moment's  silence. 
"  How  did  you  know  ?  "  the  girl  repeated. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  suppose  I  know  ?  " 

No  word  out  of  her  for  the  rest  of  that  awful  drive  till 
she  saw  they  had  reached  Berkeley  Street. 

He  apologized  for  not  going  to  Whitehall.  Too  late. 
Everything  shut  up. 

"  I  '11  go  and  see  the  chief  to-morrow  and  let  you  hear," 
he  declared. 

He  scribbled  a  note  that  evening,  reporting  to  head 
quarters  : 

"No  result  yet.     Particulars  given  to-morrow." 

Singleton  did  n't  sleep  much  that  night.     He  made  up 


420  THE  MESSENGER 

for  the  loss  in  the  morning.  Before  he  was  dressed  a  mes 
sage  summoned  him  to  the  chief. 

At  Whitehall  he  learned  that  Miss  Ellis  had  been  wait 
ing  there  that  morning  before  the  doors  were  opened.  She 
had  sent  in  her  card  a  good  hour  and  a  half  before  the 
chief  arrived,  but  she  refused  point-blank  to  see  any  one 
else.  The  chief  passed  her  waiting  there  in  the  hall.  He 
had  her  in. 

"  You  ought  to  hear  the  chief !  "  Singleton  said  grimly 
to  Napier  that  afternoon.  Singleton  himself  had  enjoyed 
the  privilege  of  "  hearing  the  chief."  She  had  come  "  to 
demand  an  extension  of  privilege  for  that  woman,  a  doc 
tor  and  so  on." 

The  chief  talked  with  her  long  enough  to  make  up  his 
mind  she  was  no  good  for  the  business. 

"  He  did  n't  spare  her,  I  'm  afraid.  He  says  she  cheeked 
him.  Can't  imagine  it,  can  you  ?  " 

Napier  couldn't  say. 

"  Well,  I  said  he  must  have  misunderstood.  I  reminded 
him  she  was  an  American.  The  chief  says  in  one  breath 
she  told  him  he  was  inhuman  and  in  the  next  demanded  a 
permit  to  take  a  doctor  to  the  prison. 

" '  Oh,  I  know,'  she  interrupted,  '  you  're  going  to  say 
they  've  got  a  doctor  — 

" '  I  beg  your  pardon,  that  was  not  in  the  least  what  I 
was  going  to  say.' 

"'What,  then?' 

"  '  I  was  going  to  say,  why  should  she  have  any  doctor  at 
all  ?  Your  friend,'  the  chief  told  her,  '  has  it  in  her  power, 
so  Mr.  Singleton  imagines,  to  do  us  some  little  service.  If 
she  won't,  what's  the  good  of  her?  Whether  she  could 


THE  MESSENGEK  421 

do  us  this  particular  service,  since  that  is  n't  what  you  've 
come  about,  we  '11  leave  unconsidered.  What  there 's  no 
doubt  about  is  her  power  to  do  us  harm.  Your  friend  has 
got  to  be  suppressed/  And  he  shut  that  mouth  of  his  like 
a  steel  trap. 

" '  Suppressed ! '  She  stared  at  him.  Can't  you  see 
her  ?  '  Suppressed  ?  How  ? ' 

"  '  Ah,  that 's  been  the  problem.  Not  with  me.  I  've 
known  from  the  beginning  there  was  only  one  way.' 

"  '  Only  one  way  ?     You  mean  to  murder  her  ?  ' 

"  The  chief  blinked  several  times  at  that.  He  has  n't 
got  over  blinking  yet,  by  Jove !  He  says  she  went  straight 
from  there  to  the  American  embassy.  Before  she  got  any 
one  to  see  her,  the  ambassador  had  been  telephoned  to. 
So  that's  all  right;  but  my  chance  is  gone.  Schwarzen- 
berg  is  to  have  her  final  hearing  on  Thursday." 

"  Is  it  likely  to  go  against  her  ?  " 

"Likely?     Sure." 

The  butler  came  in  with  a  folded  half-sheet  of  note-paper 
on  a  tray.  Napier  opened  it. 

Get  rid  of  him,  please,  Gavan.     I  will  wait.  N.  E. 

Napier  put  the  note  in  his  pocket. 
"  Say  I  '11  be  there  in  two  minutes." 

As  he  opened  the  door,  he  faced  the  Messenger  standing 
there  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with  wide,  scared  eyes. 
"  0  Gavan !  "     She  fled  into  his  arms. 

He  held  her  there  against  him  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa 
till  she  could  speak  once  more.  Every  now  and  then  she 


422  THE  MESSENGEE 

broke  out  crying  afresh  as  she  told  in  incoherent  fragments 
what  that  last  horrible  twenty-four  hours  had  brought  of 
knowledge,  of  anguish,  of  loathing. 

"  I  've  come  to  get  you  to  help  poor  Greta  and " — 
and  she  took  for  granted  he  'd  do  that  — "  to  help  poor 
me." 

"  Help  you,  my  darling  ?  " 

She  gave  that  quick  nod. 

"You  must  please  do  something  for  me  and  do  it 
quickly."  Her  eyes  went  to  the  clock.  "  Forgive  me  for 
not  being  able  to  take  the  time  to  explain  it  all,  but  they  — 
the  Government  of  your  country  —  is  likely  to  " —  she 
caught  her  breath,  and  the  voice  sank  — "  to  do  the  most 
horrible  thing,  a  thing  you  must  prevent."  In  the  silence 
she  leaned  forward  the  better  to  see  his  face.  Plainly  it 
made  her  anxious ;  she  looked  away  with  that  fold  between 
the  brows.  "  I  've  just  found  out,"  she  went  on  in  a  half- 
whisper  — "  it 's  no  hearsay !  —  the  authorities  consider 
that  Greta  was  caught  'red-handed,'  as  they  call  it. 
There 's  no  time  to  go  into  that.  It  does  n't  matter  — " 

"  Does  n't  matter !  " 

"  Not  now.     Oh,  don't  look  like  that !  " 

She  put  up  her  hand  and  drew  her  finger-tips  down 
across  his  face. 

He  caught  at  the  wrist  and  held  her  while  he  talked  very 
quietly.  There  was  no  trace  of  exultation  over  the  "en 
emy"  woman  who  had  served  him  so  ill  and  served  his 
country  worse.  "  But  we  can't,  to  salve  our  private  feel 
ings,  leave  a  person  of  that  sort  — " 

"  Whatever  she 's   done,  you  can't  let  her  be   killed, 


THE  MESSEXGEK  423 

Gavan !  Gavan,  you  can't !  Not  a  woman  who  was  my 
old  friend." 

"Don't!"  he  cried  out.  "It's  more  than  I  can  bear 
to  hear  you  calling  her  your  friend.  Of  course  you  are  hor 
ror-struck  — " 

"  I  am  more  than  horror-struck ;  I  'm  haunted.  I  '11  be 
haunted  all  my  days  unless  you  —  0  Gavan, —  if  you're 
sorry,  take  me  out  of  this  nightmare ! "  As  he  tried  to 
draw  her  to  him  again,  he  felt  her  shuddering.  "  It  is  n't 
horror  only.  I  've  been  through  vileness,  too.  It 's  all 
clinging  about  me.  I  've  seen  a  man  making  use  of  holy 
things  for  hideous  ends.  I  've  seen  a  woman  broken  by 
torture.  I  've  seen  — "  She  jumped  up,  with  a  hand 
dashed  across  her  wet  eyes  — "  If  you  can't  do  something, 
if  you  let  Greta  be  shot,  I  shall  never  sleep  again.  I  shall 
go  mad." 

"  Hush !  hush !  Don't  you  see  that  if  I  were  to  do  every 
thing  in  my  power,  this  business  has  gone  too  far?  I  am 
as  helpless  as  you,  as  helpless  as  she." 

"You  can't  say  that  till  you've  tried  —  tried  every 
thing.  If  you'll  only  try!" 

Without  her  saying  so,  he  felt  that  to  have  tried  to  save 
that  wretched  woman,  even  to  have  failed,  as  fail  he  must, 
would  count  for  something.  Whether  it  would  count 
enough,  who  could  say?  There  are  games  you  can't  play 
with  imagination  and  memory.  Well  out  of  his  reach,  she 
was  watching  him  with  an  intensity  that  held  her  breath 
less. 

"  What  you  suppose  I  can  say  to  the  authorities,  feeling 
as  I  do,  7  don't  know." 


424  THE  MESSENGER 

"I  know/'  She  came  a  step  nearer.  "Make  them 
see  that  Greta  can  do  them  one  last  greatest  harm  of  all. 
Oh,  she  '11  have  the  best  of  it  yet  if  you  don't  do  something 
to  stop  them !  Can't  you  see  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  just  think !  They  've  got  her  absolutely  in  their 
power.  That 's  an  awful  responsibility.  They  can  do 
what  they  like  with  her.  They  think  she  can't  retaliate 
any  more,  but  you  show  them  she  can.  Oh,  she  '11  have  her 
revenge  if  she  can  goad  them  into  being  cruel !  I  thought 
I  was  asking  you  to  do  something  for  my  sake,  for  our  two 
sakes,  when  I  came  here.  But  I  see  now  you  '11  do  worse 
than  make  me  miserable  as  long  as  I  live  if  you  let  them  — : 
kill  Greta.  You  '11  be  doing  a  bad  service  to  England." 

"  You  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  because  she  's  a  woman  — " 

"  Let  them  think  that  if  they  like !  "  She  watched  him 
hobble  to  the  bell.  "  Oh,  kind  and  dear  — " 

Two  days  Gavan  spent  seeing  people,  pulling  strings,  ar 
guing,  urging.  Unblushingly  he  used  his  friends,  he 
pledged  his  credit.  He  had  never  worked  harder  in  his 
life ;  and  then,  to  save  their  faces,  the  authorities  said  they 
had  never  intended  the  death-penalty  for  the  woman.  In 
England  they  didn't,  and  so  on. 

Napier  took  the  news  to  Berkeley  Street  that  same  aft 
ernoon. 

"  But  understand,"  he  stood  up  before  Nan's  chair,  lean 
ing  only  on  his  stick,  "it's  right  to  tell  you,  no  power 
under  heaven  will  make  me  either  in  the  near  future  or 
the  far  future,  nothing  will  make  me  raise  a  finger  to 
have  that  woman  set  free." 


THE  MESSENGER  425 

"  Free !     Oh,  no,  she  can't  be  allowed  free." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Napier,  relieved ;  "  just  so  you  un 
derstand." 

"  She 's  lost  her  right  to  freedom." 

He  looked  at  her. 

"  And  you  don't  think  death  is  better  ?  " 

"  Yes,  death  is  better  for  Greta,  but  not  for  us.  I 
mean,  we  could  n't  do  it,  nor  let  it  be  done  as  vengeance. 
That  is  n't  for  us." 

His  eyes  followed  her.     "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Going  to  push  the  little  sofa  to  the  fire.  It 's  bad  for 
you  to  stand." 

While  he  waited,  not  offering  to  help,  just  looking  at 
her,  a  servant  came  in. 

"  Mr.  Singleton,  Miss,  on  the  telephone.  I  've  connected 
this  one."  The  servant  went  out. 

Nan  went  up  to  Gavan  with  a  harassed  face.  She  did  n't 
want  to  talk  to  Mr.  Singleton.  "  Could  you,  do  you 
think  — " 

She  left  him  at  Sir  James's  writing-table,  and  went 
back  to  make  the  cushions  comfortable. 

"  Oh,  you  're  speaking  for  her,  are  you?  "  Singleton  said. 
"  Well,  you  can  tell  her,  then,  that  the  play  is  ausgespielt." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Gavan's  voice  was  sharp. 
"  They  did  n't  go  back  on  their  word?  " 

"No,  no;  and  she  took  the  finding  of  the  court  this 
morning  gamely  enough  —  death-sentence,  commuted  to 
imprisonment  for  life.  They  let  me  see  her  a  minute  be 
fore  she  was  taken  back  to  her  cell.  Game?  Never  saw 
anything  like  it,  till  I  proved  to  her  that  Ernst  was  acting 
for  us.  That  got  her!  But  when  they  came  to  take  her 


426  THE  MESSENGER 

away,  she  was  quiet  enough.  { Tired/  she  said.  Thought 
she  'd  sleep  at  last.  '  Eather  a  strain,  these  last  days.' 
When  they  went  in  with  her  food  —  dead." 

"What?     Say  it  again." 

"Dead!"  Singleton  repeated. 

"Heart?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  remember  my  saying  to  you  at 
Lamborough  that  we  M  found  everything  except  a  pinch  of 
white  powder?  She  had  it  all  right.  Jove!  I  wish  we 
had  one  or  two  to  match  her !  " 

(Javan  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  back  to  the  figure 
at  the  fire. 


THE  END 


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